Earlier this week, I read a newspaper piece about how accessible we all are these days with our cell phone and BlackBerry and email and on and on. The author created various ranks of technology users ranging from Call of the Wired to Dunces with Blogs (these are my own titles) with the groups noticeably divided by age and gender. Highly trained as I am, I could send you to that article with a link once I located it online since I read the paper version, meaning the one that was thrown at my front door in the morning. But to do that I would have to consult my blog support notes and put on my Linking Cap so I’ll just tell you about it instead.
The gist of the article was that (surprise!) those consumers who did not spend their childhood begging for an iPod feel somewhat dogged by technology even as they master the skills needed to stay current. The pressure is always there. I get a call from my wireless carrier every other evening now that my cell phone contract has expired and I haven’t re-signed. They keep offering me perks like extra minutes and a new phone for free. I don’t want a new phone. There is nothing more pathetic than someone standing in the mall with a ringing phone that they can’t figure out how to answer.
The day I read the article I’m not sending you to I noticed at 8:00 in the evening I had just missed a cell call from Daughter. I had neglected to put the ringer back on my phone after school and I was surprised there was no message, only a missed call notice, very unusual for Daughter who shares my tendency to always have something to say. I was viewing my email at 8:30 when I received a message from her that said, “Hi, Mom, this is terrible. I lost my cell phone. I just searched Union Square for two hours. I’m miserable.”
I called her land line (not used for outgoing calls, apparently, because the number 6 doesn’t work) and we figured out that the missed call I had received must have been from whoever found her phone since she certainly didn’t have it and the finder no doubt hit “Mom” in her contacts as a surefire thing. But they didn’t leave a message.
DTR: I’ve left like a dozen voicemails since I noticed it was missing. Whoever has it isn’t answering. Maybe they’d read a text. Would you send a text for me?
OSV: Of course. I’d do anything for you. How do I text?
DTR: Don’t kid with me, Mom. You are kidding, right?
OSV: Right. Just remind me.
DTR: Okay, let’s do this fast. Go into Messages.
OSV: How do I do that while I’m talking to you?
DTR: I’ll hold on while you get your phone.
OSV: I’m talking on my phone.
DTR: You called me on your cell? (deep breath) Okay, then. Let’s hang up and you’ll call me on a different phone.
OSV: Why don’t you call me?
DTR: You have a 6 in your number.
OSV: Right.
OSV: Hello? Hi, I’m on the house phone now. I’m in Messages. Now what?
DTR: Write this with the letters and I’ll tell you how to do the numbers when we get there. (dictates sentence) Did you get that? Are you ready for the numbers? (gives instructions for numbers)
OSV: Wait, what do I hit for a comma?
DTR: A what? No comma, Mom, you don’t need a comma.
OSV: No comma? Well, you’re right, it’s a complete sentence. I can use a period.
DTR: Mom? No period. No punctuation. It’s a text message. Did you hit Send? All right, I’m going on Craigslist to post a notice. I’ll go anywhere in the city to pick it up.
OSV: But with caution, right? You’ll use caution?
DTR: Yes, I’ll use caution. I’ll even use a comma. Okay, I have to go. Thanks, Mom, goodnight. I love you.
More of Daughter’s exceptional photos since you liked the NYC ones. She took these last month at JazzFest in New Orleans.
Louisiana native son Harry Connick Jr. performing
It rained 6 inches in one hour – this city keeps washing away
Entrance to the hotel lobby
Long live New Orleans