if you suddenly see your husband backing down the driveway while you are standing in it, or picking up a meat cleaver when you are cooking vegetarian, beware! #triedtowarnyou
I would like to add a disclaimer here that if I have misused, misunderstood or misreported the meaning or usage of the hashtag, it is not for lack of trying. #workingonit
All Thumbs When It Comes to Texting
When my daughter upgraded to a smart phone, she gave me her old cell. Even her dumb phone was smarter than my cell phone, which lacked texting capacity. So she offered to teach me to text. Seems like a nice enough gesture, doesn’t it? What follows are quotes from Sara during our first lesson.
“Mom, you’re an intelligent woman. You ran your own business. You can do this. Just take it slow. OK, put your thumb here...”
20 minutes later:
“Well, you creative types have more trouble with the technical stuff. Remember how hard it was for you to learn the computer? Use both thumbs, Mom.”
25 minutes later:
“OK, Mom, remember how hard it was for you to go from your manual typewriter to the electric? You want to use your index finger instead of your thumb?”
20 minutes and a big sigh later:
“Let’s start again. Remember how hard it was for you to go from pen and paper to the manual typewriter? Please go back to your thumbs.”
20 more minutes and the “you’ve got to be kidding me look” later:
“I know ‘CU soon’ is not proper grammar, but we are working with a limited number of characters here.
Everybody uses it. Yes, I know you are not everybody else … everybody else knows how to text!”
5 softer minutes later:
“How about an incentive? I am putting an icon for you
on my new phone. Every time you text me, a teapot will come up. Like our own private tea party. Try again.”
10 exasperated minutes later:
“Look, Mom, any idiot can learn to text. This is not rocket science. Focus here.”
(This ends the quotes from my daughter, who has now left the building.)
I got to thinking about her last comment, and after reviewing the notes I took during our lesson, I carefully, using both thumbs, sent her this text: “T 4 2?”
Looks like she may have been right.
Not Feeling Like a Twit on Twitter
Who knew I needed followers? Isn’t it enough that I spent a year figuring out how to have friends?
I thought Facebook was a challenge, but when I tried to open a Twitter account recently I learned the hard way that if you don’t know what you are doing you can become a twit, tweeting only to yourself.
But that all changed when Patrick Healy from NBC L.A. interviewed me recently about how I use social networking in writing this column. I reported that Facebook was going great. After all, that’s where I met Patrick. When he introduced me to cameraman Fabian Rodriquez I thought he looked very familiar. Turned out I had “friended” him two days earlier.
(Here I am using friend as a verb thinking my high school journalism teacher would faint at the thought of her prize student committing grammatical suicide in print.)
But back to Fabian.
“Hey, it’s you,” he said with a big smile, as recognition set in for him too. We had one of those rare moments where cyber person meets real person.
But it was no longer a new meet because we had the background of a common friend, in this case Patrick, who had introduced us on Facebook. You understand that was not a formal introduction. It merely means that I saw Fabian’s picture on Patrick’s wall under “Friends you might know” and asked him to be my friend.
If you think this sounds complicated, you should have seen me on Twitter. Before Patrick.
Boy, have things changed. I had 10 new followers in the first 10 minutes after the segment aired on the 11 p.m. news and they are still rolling in.
How does my writing life compare now to pre-social networking days?
More friends, more fun, and uh, oh, look what’s coming in ... more tweets.
Red in the Face Over Bluetooth
So I’m driving along in my car talking. Not that unusual. Not even unusual that I am alone as I often talk to myself, especially in the car.
But on this particular day, I was talking on the phone. Now to most of you this may be no big deal, but since I come slowly to new technology, when my husband gifted me with a Bluetooth it was a major event.
Mine is a small, rectangular gadget that attaches to a magnet on my visor. Since my cell phone is voice activated, all I have to do, for instance, is say “Call Sara,” my poor daughter who is now hearing from me way more than she would like, and her phone starts ringing.
“Hi, Honey, I’m at a red light and just thought I’d call because I can.”
“That’s what you said five minutes ago at the stop sign. Get a grip, Mom. I need to get back to work.”
So much for children. I decide to move on to my husband. Surely he’ll be positive.
“Guess who? I’m on my way to the market, do you need anything?”
“No, I’m good.”
Two minutes later:
“Me again. Just wanted to let you know I’m at the stop light on the corner.”
“How nice.”
“I am so excited to be using my new phone. Thank you a million times.”
“You’re welcome, but you do understand it is not a new phone, just a device that lets you talk hands free?”
Do I understand?
“Disconnect” I say as I am pulling into the parking lot. The Bluetooth says “Call completed,” and George is gone. Two seconds later he calls back. I hear his phone number announced and ponder my choices. “Accept call,” I finally concede, feeling very powerful.
“Why did you hang up on me?” George asks.
“Because I can. Hands free! How cool is that?”
On my way home I decided to try one last call.
“What now?” George answered.
“Oh you weren’t supposed to pick up. I’m calling to leave myself a message about a column idea…”
BTW: Silence Is Still Golden
It appears I am one of a disappearing breed who still values alone time. For more than two decades I have been a regular at the same bench under a weeping willow tree in Pasadena’s serene Huntington Gardens. It’s my place to breathe and be in the moment.
My moment, however, was invaded recently by an intruder who was so afraid of missing a possible future moment that she bypassed the opportunity to experience the present one.
Click, click, click. The young woman at the other end of the bench texted constantly. There were minor pauses as she received responses, which made her laugh, screech or shout “shut up!”(which I was really hoping she would do. But, of course, she was talking in the vernacular of the day, where shut up means “no way” — as in an expression of surprise).
She made it through