Call Me. Please!
I get it. I really get it.
But that doesn’t mean it’s right.
I carry a Blackberry everywhere and use it to review emails all day and night. When I forget to put it on silent mode it buzzes at me all night like a dog asking to go out for walk. At 3 in the morning I might get up to turn it off – but not before checking to make sure I haven’t missed anything while sleeping, of course.
Sounds like an addiction but think of how productive I am! I arrive in the office in the morning and all the emails from the night before are cleaned up. Swept up. My work area is spotless and polished and ready to roll.
In addition to the crackberry, I carry an iPhone for longer emails or documents. The screen is larger and clearer and I can do quick internet searches. I can also take pictures. I love photographing food. After all I might be stranded on a desert isle some day and I’ll need to dream about some good meals. Assuming I remember to bring the chargers, of course.
A laptop sits on the desk at home, a computer on the desk at work in my offices in Stamford and Houston. These are faster than the handhelds and good for reading long documents or spreadsheets. On trips I leave the laptop behind; I hate taking it out at airports and lugging it around all day. And as my vision dims and my shoulders begin to resemble Cro Magnon Man – computer hump, they call it – I try to cut back on “screen time” as well. Computers seems so, well, last century if you know what I mean.
But while I may not like computers, I can’t live without them!
I tweet occasionally, send out an annoying video card once in a while, and forward those execrable jokes that a friend sends me once a day. All of this falls in the category of expanding the horizons of education, for myself and others. The internet is a vast classroom. Not all classes are worth taking, some have bad teachers, but there’s something for everybody and a world of knowledge to acquire. And the health classes aren’t half bad either!
When my father sends me an historical essay, I forward that too. In fact, I run something like a virtual post office on my computer, stuffing the PO boxes of friends with appropriate junk mail that comes in by the truckload every day. What I don’t read or forward I shred like junk mail. (I love that sucking sound that “Empty Trash” makes when you delete a document; Apple users know what I’m talking about.)
When I’m in the car I talk on the car’s hand’s free device. This is to make sure I’m productive in those long drives to the office or to the City. And it’s safe: it’s one of our policies at MX: Must have hand’s free device.
Well, almost safe. As George Washington might say if he wrecked the family car, “I cannot tell a lie.” I also check emails from time to time and even text when I’m in a hurry. I know. It’s worse than drunken driving. It’s like trying to eat a bowl of pasta on the highway. While steering with two knees and balancing the bowl on the steering wheel. But I rationalize to myself that I am reducing the risk of a stress-induced heart attack even while I increase the risk of an accident. “Traffic on 95. Be there in 10. G2G.” I probably think the world would cease to revolve if I didn’t warn my next appointment I was running late. Not to mention that they might have to scrape me off the median strip.
And I text. Like a teenager. This also makes me productive. Quick, laconic instructions or comments, without any messy conversations. Maybe I don’t text 2,400 times a month – the average for school-age kids, according to a recent survey. But what I lose in quantity I make up in speed. You know how your mother used to complain, “You’re all thumbs!” Well, today it’s a virtue! I have ten thumbs and type like a squid on steroids. I would challenge any of our customers to a texting contest but it wouldn’t be fair to have them pay for my electricity for a year. I once typed 140 wpm on an old Underwood typewriter, pre-electric days. Sometimes the word processing program can’t keep up with me. Texting is a piece of cake.
The other day I was sitting in our living room at home and I saw a familiar sight. It was like seeing an old blanket on the couch. Or an old mug in the cupboard that’s followed me since college. It was black, curved, and had two ends with perforated holes. It sat in a cradle-like base and had a long coiled black wire that ran from one end to the base. It was a telephone.
My, my, I thought. What a novel idea. It’s probably been months since I picked that thing up. What if I called my friend in LA? And had a chat?
As I imagined the act of hitting the buttons and speaking into the receiver I had the annoying feeling of that coiled black wire getting in my way. I imagine the conversation. The irritating, time-consuming, endless exchange of pleasantries:
“How are the kids?"
“How’s work?"
“This unemployment sucks, doesn’t it?"
“When are they going to do something?”
“Are you going to the reunion?”
“What do you think of dem Yankees?”
“Mets, nah! You can have ‘em.”
“And what do you think of the election now? What? Election again? In November? Two months!”
“Damn , time goes fast.”
And on and on till the grass needs to be cut and the leaves clog the gutter and the snow covers the ground and the sand slips through the hour glass. Who has time for such things? Send a text!
But then I think: “What am I doing?!” When was the last time I curled up under that warm blanket? Filled that mug with hot cocoa? Talked to my friend in California?
I get it. It’s all about efficiency. About getting things done. Relieving anxiety. Increasing productivity. Expanding the frontiers of knowledge.
But then again…

