Bill Machrone

Wouldn't you love to have a roomful—or a houseful—of state-of-the-art computer and consumer-electronics technology? That's what we promised in PC Magazine's Digital Dream Home/Small Office/Dorm Makeover contest. All you had to do was convince us that you had a need and would make good use of the equipment. We ran the contest a few months back on our Web site (relax, it's closed now). We asked entrants how they would use the products, why they needed the makeover, and why we should pick their entry.

In the process of picking finalists, I read every one of the thousands of submissions, which took days. Some of them read like a bad caricature of a country and western song; you could almost hear the weeping steel guitars as the entrants recited their obviously trumped-up tales of woe. Those, plus the ones that answered "I want it all" and "because I deserve it" to our essay questions, quickly went into the reject pile.

Among the other entrants, however, some interesting patterns emerged. Half of the applicants were women, a proportion far higher than among PC Magazine subscribers in general. The applications also revealed a fundamental difference in the way women and men approach technology.

You will not be surprised to learn that most of the guys wanted technology for its own sake or to impress their friends. Most of the women either had a specific application in mind, or they wanted to win in order to please members of their families. One woman wrote, "My home technology is an embarrassment. The other kids make fun of my children's technology."

Another said, half jokingly, half wistfully, that if she won the gear for her husband, maybe he would be proud of her and would give her a foot rub—nah, he hates giving foot rubs. She wasn't alone, however. Lots of women wanted to win technology for their husbands.

The altruistic wives were neatly counterbalanced by the zealous, evangelistic, proselytizing husbands. One male entrant started his pitch by trying the sensitivity route, but ultimately he showed his true, tech-obsessed colors. I laughed out loud when I read that one:

There is no substitute for the love of a kindhearted woman; with your crafty assistance and technological expertise, I would be able to convince her that wide-screen is better than full-screen, and she too would be enlightened and would gaze upon me with the kind of wonder that must have greeted the first man or woman to harness fire and hold it aloft in the darkness of the technologically vacant night.

I also learned of the "man room," a phrase that was previously unknown to me. It's evidently a place where women are forbidden and normal rules of behavior, order, and hygiene are suspended. Some men painted glorious pictures of the tech-fueled parties they'd have in their man rooms, and some benighted women even applied on behalf of their men's man rooms. I rejected all of these applications out of hand. Sorry, but technology in the home should be a uniting force, not a collection of glowing gewgaws for the he-brute's personal cave. And pick up that thigh bone after you're done gnawing on it.

Educators who are desperately trying to keep up with their students, or with the expectations of their schools, entered as well. Plaints such as this one were not uncommon: "As a college instructor, I am expected to utilize the latest digital tools to prepare materials, which I generally have to do and learn at home."

We also saw examples of classroom altruism: dedicated teachers who wanted to win just so they could bring their equipment into their technology-bereft schools.

Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but the cheery descriptions of complete multimedia systems with Internet access in the bedroom left me cold. Music? Sure. TV? I can think of better things to do there. Web surfing via a wireless keyboard? My wife would beat me to death with it—and I wouldn't blame her.

Finally, some of the applications were testaments to materialistic acquisition and naked greed. Contrast that with the person who wrote:

I'm no more deserving than anyone else, but if I were lucky enough to win, I promise you that I would wring every ounce of enjoyment out of my prize, and I would seek every opportunity to make others happy, too.

Now that's a deserving attitude.

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