Feb 272009
 

DSC00790Good morning. When I started my blog, I felt hip, tuned in, turned on,  outasight. I might as well have said, “I’m the cat’s pajamas.” While I am blogging, I am not twittering, linked-in, face-booking, or I-phoning.  I don’t “get” them.

In my job search,  people are advising me, and for that I am grateful. TThe advice comes with a price. My advisors tell me I need to “step up” with technology.

Like most people I thought “twitter” was what the birds did out my kitchen window. While the 24/7 pundits were going  about Congressfolk “tweeting” during the president’s speech the other night, I found it rude. How many of them can actually SEE the screen? And if you are “twittering” during a speech, how can you hear the comments to comment on?

“Back in my day” we would call that rude.

Twitter gives you 140 units to answer the question, “What am I doing today?” For me, the unemployed empty nester, the answer is “I am cleaning the nibs of my fountain pen collection.” Aren’t you glad you know that? One could probably deduce that someone who still uses a fountain pen and actually writes letters is from another century anyway, and relates more to the IBM Electric that her Dell laptop.

The next popular program that I’m unfamiliar with is “linked in”. In addition to suggestions by several friends that I “link in” to this site, I have received numerous invitations from people. According to my outplacement counselor, this is the number #1 most important thing in finding a job. Search your own personal groups, i.e. high school. college, past employers, etc., and contact them through this electronic forum. So far I’ve come up with a former college professor, a man whose wife was my high school friend, and a woman I barely knew who was also “de-selected” from my company 5 years ago.

The last time I saw the professor was at an alumni gathering for my college 29 years ago. Husband and I were not married. Just hanging out. We had been drinking (no doubt the expensive $5 a case Wisconsin Club) and we showed up In a State at this event. Just like the day I met him (that story later) Husband was wearing all white, including a big white wide-brimmed hat like Juan Valdez. This is not the impression I want this college professor to have of me, so I prefer not to contact her. (By the way, alcohol is not a part of my health regimen anymore; I have about two glasses of champagne a year.)

The third technology that I’m avoiding is Facebook but I have a good reason. When Son went off to college, he and most of his buds signed up and use it on a daily basis. Like the clubhouse in Little Rascals, I should “be warned and stay out.” While started for college students, more of my friends are now using Facebook to showcase vacation and grandchildren pictures.

And finally the I-Phone or Blackberry, three of my close friends (and you know who you are) recently switched to this electronic crack. Frankly I have a Nokia phone that has so many bells and whistles on it that I don’t use or understand. I just want a phone that works AS A PHONE. The concept of “computer phone as my constant companion” is not resonating with me. I don’t want my daily update from Slate.com or Barnes and Noble to arrive at my bedside or when I’m traveling 65 mph down the interstate. Nor could I even see He’s Just Not Into You on that tiny screen.

A couple of these friends who have the new hand-held addictions also need reading glasses. How in the world can they see the screen? I have received two e-mails via Blackberry that made absolutely no sense because the sender deleted the first two lines, or something went wrong. I do enjoy the pictures that friends send from these machines, including my friend Prof. CM who took a picture of herself with the Mary Tyler Moore statue in Minneapolis. We’re gonna make it after all!

As Aunt Eller said in Oklahoma, I’ve gone about as fer as I can go. For now I’m content to sit in front of my old Dell blogging my life away. See, when the Bomb drops and all this technology goes away, I can go to my garage and find my Olympic typewriter and the four ribbons I’ve hidden away for such an occasion. (Guess that will be the least of my problems.) Quoth the raven.

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