In 1959 I had a map of the solar system taped to my bedroom wall. My big sister would run me through the lineup:

Mercury was a superheated ball of rock and iron, too close to the sun to sustain life. But Venus might have oceans and jungles populated with dinosaurs. Mars was cold and dry, and its inhabitants, who built cities that resembled ancient Athens, had channeled that planet's dwindling resources of water into canali that supported their dying civilization. Jupiter had 12 moons and Saturn, 9. Uranus and Neptune were twin worlds, one green, one blue, and Pluto was a planet, albeit a tiny planet a long way from the warm climes of the inner solar system.

Well. Fifty years have certainly made a difference.

In 1960 my family was hustled aboard a rickety C-124 Globemaster and sent on our way to Spain. We flew all day. The plane was noisy and cold, the props sending shuddery vibrations through the airframe. Sometime that night we landed at an airport in the Azores for refueling. We took off a short time later only to return after an engine caught fire. Finally we were off again and landed at Torrejon Air Base sometime the middle of the next day.

We lived in Spain three years. Without television. Without telephone - except the occasional call to the U.S. which would set us back a king's ransom for a few measley minutes of conversation with the relatives. We had radio, which is how we learned of the Cuban Missile Crisis and JFK's assassination. We had vinyl 45's, which is how we knew of The Beatles years before the U.S. caught on. That was all.

Life passed us by those three years. We entertained ourselves by reading, drawing, and learning skills like sewing. It was a good time. Little did we know the rest of the world was entering the Hugo Gernsback continuum.

Who is Hugo Gernsback? He's a fellow from Luxemborg who emigrated to the United States and eventually founded Wonder Stories, which influenced the course of modern science fiction. Eventually he became known as "the father of science fiction." He was the inspiration for a famous short story by William Gibson.

In 1963 we were ordered back to the United States. We climbed aboard a sleek, aluminum 707 jetliner courtesy of Boeing and TWA. Seven hours later we landed at McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey.

Science fiction.

In 1965 we moved to Florida, which is where we heard of a new, amazing device: the color TV. We kids stood outside our neighbors' window and watched their color TV. The screen was green. But it was an amazing green and "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." never looked better. Later Dad would spring for a color TV. The color had to be adjusted from network to network. NBC, for instance, favored a cool color palette with skin tones the hue of undercooked hamburger while ABC was always too hot - bright reds and yellows. CBS lay somewhere between. Family battles erupted over who could adjust the color to everybody's satisfaction.

Science fiction.

In the mid-'60 another amazing invention came along - the Amana Radar Range microwave oven. It cooked your food in mere seconds. We were both entranced and terrified. Would it render your food radioactive? We did not get our first microwave oven until 1979, almost 15 years after microwaves were first introduced. No use embracing a suspicious new technology when the old worked just fine.

In the early 1970s eight-track tapes began to replace vinyl records. I came home from work late one night to find a brand-new stereo on my dresser drawer top, an eight-track protruding from the slot. Meanwhile, push-button phones began to replace dial phones. Flip-phones replaced phones with conventional hangers. Cassettes replaced eight-tracks and I stubbornly refused to switch from vinyl, despite the increasing difficulty in finding records.

In the early 1980s something new came along - the VCR. It existed in two formats - beta and VHS. Dad opted for an expensive Sony beta and it became his private toy as he sat in his recliner, the corded "remote" in his hand, taping a TV show on a beta cassette that cost as much as $20 and could only be purchased at Radio Shack. Pre-recorded movies were all the rage but they would set you back big bucks - as much as $80. I bought my niece an $80 VHS copy of "The Thing" because we were monster movie buds. When I opened her family's gift to me on Christmas morning I found a sweater wrapped around a beta version of "The Thing."

Then, about the mid- to late '80s, CDs posed a serious threat to vinyl, cassettes and eight-tracks, which were clearly on the way out. I evaluated this technology and in 1990 bought my first CD player, a pricey Yamaha model that lasted until 2008. My very first CD was "Bread's Greatest Hits." I unloaded all my vinyl records and committed to CDs, including a '95 Mustang convertible with a CD player. Dear God but I was da bomb.

Da science fiction bomb.

My writing friend, Ray, convinced me in 1992 I could no longer produce my fiction on yellow legal pads and transcribe them on my trusty Royal electronic typewriter. What I needed was a PC that would allow me to instantly write and edit my manuscripts, then print them out on a dot-matrix printer. I took the blue pill and bought into an IBM PS1 and an Okidata printer which I must say revolutionized my writing. A process that took weeks before was now shortened to mere days, and I could save my stories on floppy discs, which were sold at local discounters for mere pennies per disc.

The analog format faded from video and gave way to digital. In 1998 I purchased my first DVD player, an RCA model that set me back almost $400. It was a persnickity beast and would sometimes freeze up if the data on the disc exceeded its ability to process said data. The first time I tried to watch "The Ring" on DVD I became convinced the monstrous little girl in the movie had taken over my DVD player. Only when I watched it on my new Gateway computer did I receive a reasonable facsimile of the movie, which scared the dickens out of me.

Meanwhile I became convinced my landline telephone was not sufficient for my communication means and bought a Motorola flip-phone cell phone, one of those bulky beasts with an antenna that had to be manually deployed. Between the roaming charges and the unavailability of signals I decided the technology wasn't mature enough and sold it to a guy living in a house trailer - he paid me $50.

Segue to today. The landline is history. I have a "smart phone" that allows me to take pictures and video, surf the web, make calls and do all kinds of stuff formerly restricted to my computer. Soon it will be replaced with another smart phone that will allow me to do everything I'm doing right now on my PC. I have a laptop sitting next to my PC - it's gathering dust because the phone has rendered it obsolete. I'm music-less for the time being because I'm not going to spring for an MP3 player - not when the phone will do that, and most certainly not when the new tablets will do everything that a PC, laptop and phone will do. Nor am I investing in a new digital video system when the tablet may replace all that too.

Science fiction - gah!

I am living in a science fiction world, and it's moving so fast I don't dare commit any serious dollars until it's sorted out.

What's around the corner? Molecular drives that will replace flash drives - virtually everything I want in digital form will be forever stored in a near-infinite repository of information. Devices that will combine TV, radio, music and print into a single gadget - or a gadget with peripherals -  will make everything I own at the moment obsolete.

Just the other day I read an article in Good Housekeeping (of all places) about supermarket coupons that will be beamed to my cell phone as I roam the aisles. Once I reach the checkout counter these coupons will be beamed to my smart card and the discounts applied to my purchases.

Dear God. I've always ridden the technology wave but that doesn't seem possible anymore. It's moving faster than I can paddle.

Hugo help me. I'm falling behind. I can't keep up. It all sounds so Orwellian.

The Gernsback continuum. William Gibson, are you out there?