OUT OF THE BLUE

The happy truth is Americans have invented and popularized an appliance to perform almost any heretofore manual or mental task, from baby monitors to heart surgery and self-driving cars. The most ubiquitous: cellphones. I love how businesses assume every American owns and uses a cellphone to the fullest extent of its capabilities.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m certainly not knocking them. That would be like knocking Taylor Swift. Or penicillin. Cellphones save lives. But their presence, especially the apps, precludes down time, a blissful indulgence fading fast. There’s proof aplenty in any airport departure lounge, where I slouch in a corner seat, eyes closed, waiting out the delay, while fellow passengers watch Martha Stewart dunk biscotti or Cooper Flagg dunk a basketball.

How about gas fireplaces? A wood-burning fireplace is meant to warm a room. Its beauty and aroma are added attractions. The sight of a glowing log turning to ash doesn’t result from a flipped switch. Why not just put a crackling fire from Netflix on the flatscreen, take the money you saved and buy a cord of dry wood and a bundle of kindling?

Air fryer ovens are huge. Maybe Emeril Lagasse has a mile-long counter, but most kitchens barely accommodate a blender, toaster, food processor and coffeemaker. Yet the ads are so tempting. Let’s build an addition on the house.

Tankless hot water heaters? Sure, you won’t need a clumsy tank in the basement or utility closet. But a power failure shuts off hot water immediately.

I rise long before the sun — and turn on the TV, rich in ads for snake oil, love potions and gadgets like a pedal exerciser where, it seems, electricity pushes the pedals and feet/legs go along for the ride. “So quiet your co-workers won’t know you’re using it.” Personally, I prefer a side of noise and a splash of sweat with my exercise.

But I’d have a hard time living without residential AC.

I don’t hear much about “smart” homes anymore — the kind where you can turn up the heat, switch on the lights and sound system while you’re driving home on the Interstate. That always sounded creepy to me, maybe even dangerous.

Talk about creepy . . . computer-generated personal assistants like Siri, who provide information and answer questions. Most are female, perhaps some kind of 21st century continuation of the cute little secretary image?

And, when your self-driving, self-navigating, self-parking car suffers a fender-bender, how do police or insurance adjusters determine blame, aka, human error?

Occasionally, an improvement backfires. When digital clocks replaced analog, a generation of children had trouble telling time. Same thing, when Velcro replaced shoelaces and the overhand knot became an endangered species.

Of course these are exceptions leading up to the bogeyman called AI, which not even its formulators can explain.

No thanks. I have enough trouble with the real stuff.