The frightening thing is... these groups tend to form along generational lines. People more likely to be sulking in the car seat about undone essays tend to be among the first category; people more likely to be muttering about those people sulking in the car seat about undone essays, delaying the commencement of the long, roundabout journey to work, tend to be among the second category.
And so it was that I found myself, terrifyingly, on the wrong side of the electronic fence. On the side with people who know who Divan Serfontein is/was, people who watch the news on TV, people who know the difference between a cabernet and a shiraz. None of which applies to me.
On the other side are those who know who Alex Kapranos is, people who think podcasts are far more interesting than anything on TV, people who know the difference between last.fm and MySpace. Important things like that.
I found it a very disorientating realisation. I was trapped on the wrong side of a generation gap!
But the prospect of learning to love predictive text eluded me. I find the very concept distasteful - like some spouse who thinks they know what you're going to say before you say it, or the salesman who's already answering the question you didn't ask. Predictive text is based on assumption, on presumption, on bias and prejudice and all those other horrors I spend my life decrying. How could I possibly love predictive text???
And yet... Most of the people on the scary side of the electronic fence were those most comfortable in their smug prejudice, polished to a smooth shine from years of care and nurturing. Those who knew what they liked and what they didn't and no one was going to tell them otherwise. Those whose minds would be easiest to predict, least likely to surprise.
Predictive text has never heard of the word "surd". It does, however, know "absurd". And perhaps that's ultimately appropriate.