That's right. I'm here. You're there. Ya wanna close the space a little? Eh? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Condiments By Jack Farrar © January 13, 1999 Denver law enforcement officials now have the latest tool in technological-criminological-big-brotherism, a speeding ticket generated by a new-fangled radar device. Recently, I was the recipient of one such ticket. It included an impressive portfolio of evidence -- a photo of my car, a photo of me (not flattering) and a digital printout indicating that I had traveled down a section of University Boulevard at 40 miles per, ten miles above the officially sanctioned pace. The ticket included an invoice for $40. There were some notes about possible strategies for beating the rap, but they were not encouraging. There is little doubt that my chances of convincing a jury of my innocencewould be slim. As I see it my sole argument would be that a guy who looks exactly like me, possibly a clone, was driving my car at the time of the infraction. Yes, I was guilty. But that is not the point. State-of-the-art tickets are generated completely by a machine, not by a living, breathing officers of the law, depriving us of the healthy give-and-take normally associated with the issuance of a ticket -- the cajoling, the concocting of creative excuses, the amateur plea bargaining. (Officer: “Sir, I had you going 45 in a 30 zone.” Me: “Sorry, officer, I was late for my heart bypass surgery.”) I suppose there are some people who applaud these new computerized cops. Not me. They are still more evidence that our lives are at the mercy of machines, without souls, without mercy. When tax-paying drivers are deprived of one of the basic privileges of a modern democracy, the right to wriggle and squirm out of vehicular misdemeanors, what’s next? Virtual attorneys?