She’s 21, a friend of my daughter’s, and she said she was going to Portsmouth.

Where in Portsmouth, I asked.

Amanda said she didn’t know. She planned to MapQuest it and follow the directions. Once she got there, she said, she’d have no clue what part of Portsmouth she was in. Then she’d return, having no idea exactly where she’d been.

“I don’t have a sense of direction,” she explained, and then added something interesting: “None of us do.”

By “us” she meant people her age, give or take five years.

We were outside my Providence home.

“Like right now,” she said, “I have no idea which way is north and south.”

She’s a bright girl, but was making a point.

Ever since she began driving, she has either followed computer-generated directions, or just turned when the GPS voice told her to. She has never had to develop knowledge of streets, routes, or even a mental picture of where things are. Technology does it for her.

She said it’s not the only thing people her age don’t know.

“There are others?” I asked.

Tons, she said, and offered one:

“I don’t know how to spell.” She has always had spell-check, and not just in word processing; it’s now in e-mail, too. Some phones even have it for text messaging, including mine. It corrects me as I go. Amanda has never had to be sure there is only one “c” in “necessary,” because applications will take care of that for her.

“I don’t have great penmanship, either,” she said. “We don’t need to, because we’re always using keyboards.” It made me think back to college when everyone scribbled notes during lectures. Now, kids usually use laptops.

Amanda said she doesn’t know phone numbers, either — sometimes not even for family members, since you don’t dial the digits anymore; you just punch a name on your phone.

She tossed out a great phrase.

“We have an app for everything,” she said.

I now have an iPhone and, indeed, downloaded such an app the other day. It’s called UrbanSpoon, and is designed to help people decide where to eat without thinking. You bring up the app, and the phone’s GPS determines exactly where you are on the planet — you don’t even have to input a zip. You shake the phone, and it suggests a nearby restaurant. If you don’t like it, you keep shaking. GPS devices in cars do the same thing. You punch “food” to get restaurant suggestions, pick one, and the voice then guides you into the parking lot.

I’m told there’s another app that tells you the song title if you hold up your phone to music.

Perhaps the biggest lost arts, said Amanda, are punctuality and planning. With cell phones, she said, you don’t have to “do” either.

She told me that “back in the day” — her way of ribbing me for being old — teens wanting to hang out needed a firm plan. You made such plans hours in advance at school, or days before the weekend. You had no choice, since people had to be contacted in person or by landline at home.

Now, she said, no one plans, or needs to. You can decide to meet 10 minutes in advance, and reach everyone instantly by text. Neither is it a problem if you’re late. You tell folks by text not to wait for you, and call again to find if they’ve moved to a new spot.

She said that’s one reason no one wears watches. Of course, there’s a clock on your cell for formal obligations, but socially, it’s uncommon to have a precise rendezvous time.

It’s even that way with television, she said. Back in the day, people had to be disciplined about catching the 6 p.m. news or a 9 p.m. weekly series. Now, there’s news every half hour, and as for shows, you can record them and watch anytime. If you forget to record them, you just go to Hulu.com or a dozen other options and watch them online.

“All that’s why we have no concept of time,” said Amanda. But she said it’s fine, because there are apps to take care of it.

Moving to one more area, she said apps have even replaced the need to seek one-on-one wisdom from elders and professors. Now, Amanda said, you just Google it.

Of course, she said, some kids do have a sense for directions, timing and penmanship. But for most, these are fading arts.

I told her it was a fascinating theory. If she thought of other areas where people like her use digital crutches, could she let me know? I told her I’d give her my cell number.

There was no need.

“Just text it to me,” she said.

Then she was off, presumably to a place in Portsmouth whose location she didn’t know.

mpatinkin@projo.com