The Sad Truth
Went away with the family for a couple of days to Kalaloch, Washington, on the coast, the awesome Pacific doing its windswept magnificent thing with Olympic National Park at its doorstep, mighty red cedars crowded right down to the shore. We had a lovely respite from the city, walked in the woods and on the beach, read books by the woodstove in our charming cabin, drank in the daytime, and enjoyed each others’ company, even during the drive there and back.
On arriving home, I think how exciting it will be to log onto the computer after close to three days of non-use; naturally, I’ll have a bunch of interesting emails and loads of fascinating conversations to catch up online.
Not hardly.
Only about half a dozen electronic messages and only one of those from a real person. And not more than two or three points of interest on the whole doggone internetz, and even those, I could have missed without suffering a bit of cultural depravation.
Even my phone messages were boring—both from business calling to remind me I need to do business with them.
I know this sounds like I’m complaining, but actually not; I’m relieved I’m so easily missed, especially over a post-holiday weekend. I’d hate to be one of those people whose Blackberry buzzes them dozens of times an hour, even though, if I were, I’d brag about it while pretending not to.
Some comedian I saw once (might have been Larry Miller) did this riff on how what it means to be grown up is to be glad when your phone machine isn’t blinking when you come home (this was back in the dark ages when everyone had phone machines) and I suppose this is the contemporary equivalent.
The kid, in contrast to me, had something like 24 texts waiting just in the time she was outside service area this afternoon; and she was glad to answer each and every one.
On arriving home, I think how exciting it will be to log onto the computer after close to three days of non-use; naturally, I’ll have a bunch of interesting emails and loads of fascinating conversations to catch up online.
Not hardly.
Only about half a dozen electronic messages and only one of those from a real person. And not more than two or three points of interest on the whole doggone internetz, and even those, I could have missed without suffering a bit of cultural depravation.
Even my phone messages were boring—both from business calling to remind me I need to do business with them.
I know this sounds like I’m complaining, but actually not; I’m relieved I’m so easily missed, especially over a post-holiday weekend. I’d hate to be one of those people whose Blackberry buzzes them dozens of times an hour, even though, if I were, I’d brag about it while pretending not to.
Some comedian I saw once (might have been Larry Miller) did this riff on how what it means to be grown up is to be glad when your phone machine isn’t blinking when you come home (this was back in the dark ages when everyone had phone machines) and I suppose this is the contemporary equivalent.
The kid, in contrast to me, had something like 24 texts waiting just in the time she was outside service area this afternoon; and she was glad to answer each and every one.
posted by Professor Dave at 6:16 PM
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