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“Well this car is automatic (bamph!) it’s systematic (bamph!) it’s hyyyyy-dromatic (bamph!). Why, it’s Greased Lightnin’!”

- Danny Zuko in Grease

We live in a society obsessed with automation. Anything worth doing is worth doing automatically, systematically, and even hydromatically. This was true in Danny Zuko’s day and it’s never been more true today. It seems that modern engineers can automate anything. We live in a world where some of our most advanced technologies — computer chips, infrared emitters, lithium batteries — are routinely combined to make something as pedestrian as a television remote control.

Lately, I have started to consider myself a counter-revolutionary on the matter of increasing automation in my life. Now, I’m no Luddite — I’ve made a career in the Information Technology field, and I’m not about to bite the hand that feeds me. Besides, automation and computerization makes it possible for me to use this very website to inflict my opinions on an unwary public. Automation, in and of itself, is not necessarily evil incarnate.

However, there’s just a few things in my life that I would still rather do myself. In fact, there are a few things in life that I can do better than any automated device, such as maneuvering a lawnmower, shifting an automobile transmission, or even cleaning out the cat’s litter box.

A friend has one of those automated litter box cleaners, and I swear it looks like a laser printer that just came in from a nice laydown at the beach. For $100, this device will eliminate the need to “scoop the poop” out of the box. At regular intervals, this automated wonder drags a little rake through the litter tray, gathering up the various unmentionables into a hidden basket. At the expense of a few watts of electricity, you have one neat baggie of ditty doo-doo ready for disposal, and your hands remain unsullied by the handle of a poop scoop.

Of course, God forbid that the cleaning cycle should go off while the cat is actually in the box doing his thing. There are safeguards in place to prevent this conflict of interest, but as anyone who has ever owned an American automobile will attest, safeguards are only as good as the length of the manufacturer’s warranty. In my friend’s case, the safeguards failed in the worst possible way: his cat was disturbed at a most inopportune moment by what must have looked like a possessed winnowing fork. To say that the cat was frightened would be an understatement. Suffice to say that, to this day, he insists on peeing in the spot next to the litter box.

This, to my mind, is automation that I don’t need. To save $100 and several carpet cleaning bills, I will gladly scoop cat poop by hand.

Our attraction to automated convenience can be a gilded cage that robs us of our independence. Ask any kid who has ever lived through a power outage. He’s living his worst nightmare because he’s never conceived a scenario where an X-Box would refuse to power up. He’s not worried about finding food, or shelter, or even about getting up a quick game of hide-and-go-seek. He’s convinced that the entire world is on hold until the power company comes ’round with their magic truck.

Lest you think that we adults are immune from this comfortable world-view, think about your recent bathroom experiences. Chances are that you’re having to push fewer controls than ever before. During a recent business meeting at an unfamiliar office, I went to the bathroom for the usual reasons. This seemed to be a fairly modern office building, so I was surprised to find that the sinks didn’t work. I waved my hands several time under the sink faucet, trying to figure out how to tell the little sensor “I’m here and I’m dirty, so wash me.” Finally, the puzzled guy at the next sink said, “You have to used the handles.”

The knobs were right there in front of my face, yet I had dumbly persisted in the notion that the water would come on automatically if I just waved like I was directing landings on the carrier Nimitz. I had forgotten how to use a manual sink. I looked at my now beet-red face in the mirror. You know what I saw? A shell-shocked kid whose X-Box no longer worked.

I hesitate to call it a crusade, but I am now making a point of going out of my way to curb my dependence on unnecessary automation. Oh, I’ll still take elevators and let my PDA remind me of appointments. But if I’m given a choice between an automatic and a manual bathroom, I’ll take mine with handles.

Besides, what else can they automate? The stall doors open and close by themselves; the toilet flushes automatically once my posterior retreats to a suitable distance; the sink turns on and off with a wave of my hand; the paper towel dispenser starts dispensing as soon as I reached for it; even the trash cans have automatic lids, kind of like Oscar the Grouch’s house. There’s only one thing in that bathroom left to automate, if you think about it.

You can keep that action to yourself, thank you very much.