110833821
I once told a former editor of this newspaper that I hated computers and would never have one in my home. I watched as his head exploded. He thought computers were the greatest thing since stuffed shells (never understood why sliced bread was supposed to be great). This was before computers became an everyday tool both in business and home use. I have since gotten rid of my manual then electric typewriters and acquiesced to the age of the computer. However, I still contend that I was correct when I argued at the time that computers would render us slaves to them and make many of our jobs a lot less interesting.
All of this is leading up to the fact that for the past two weeks, I have been living without a computer since it decided to crash eight years after I purchased it. My last two columns were typed on my wife’s I-Pad (that’s a whole other story). Allow me to digress here because I think I need to rant to relieve the pressure of this modern technological existence into which I’ve been dragged kicking and screaming.
My wife’s I-Pad brings with it her Facebook page with its toxic comments about the election we all lived through. In addition to the toxic comments (wife and I are the essence of reason compared to the rumors and insults that are bandied back and forth there on a daily basis, the Facebook page also contains prayers for which the sender implores you to reply with an “amen” and less horrible things happen to you (sometimes the condition is a positive one and promises you that instead of frogs, money will rain down from heaven on you. Occasionally there are “exotic” recipes — all of which require melted cheese. Needless to say, I can live quite well without Facebook, and have already made my first New Year’s resolution — don’t ever look at my wife’s Facebook page.
My wife also has a new Samsung phone — hopefully the model that will not explode in her pretty little ear. Now, not only do my grandkids ignore me when we dine together, but my wife does, too. I think I will always “cherish” the picture of her dining with me at a chic Asian restaurant and poking furiously out a reply to one of the idiots on her Facebook page (who unfortunately happens to be a relative). I ate my Mongolian stir-fry in utter silence that evening, although she did pause to let me know that my Temple basketball team had won a big game. Back to the story of my misery these past two weeks.
I had mucho problems getting my column to the Review without the comfort of my personal computer (it hurts me even to write those words). I must have called Joe Myers four times to make sure that he received the column (he didn’t the first three times — is it possible to hit “send” and not send something?). Just think, dear reader, how close you came to there being an empty space in this newspaper where my column has resided for these past 52 or so years. Why are so many of you applauding at that thought?
My good friend helped me purchase a new computer, but not before I had to make another momentous decision or two — laptop or desktop? Apple or PC? Incidentally, have you ever noticed that Apple owners are a bit deranged in their loyalty? I include several wonderful friends — my wonderful daughter and son-in-law are in that group. I can understand being fanatic about the bread on your dinner table, but really, the brand of computer and assorted other gadgets? The younger generation has already placed Steve Jobs in the company of Edison and Marconi,and I resent it, along with Bill and Melinda Gates. Anyway, I wound up choosing a serviceable PC mainly because I was afraid to have to learn a new system. It turns out that everything I used and learned on my old computer is obsolete.
I am now happily typing away on my new keyboard in Microsoft Works. “Happily” is a relative term. A computer is supposed to be a tool. A writer is not supposed to be worrying about his computer more than the content (does it show?). Would Hemingway have done himself in 10 years earlier if he had been forced to hack out “The Old Man and the Sea” in Microsoft Word? Can you see “Papa” concerning himself with whether the font is large enough or where is the box for spell check? Would a couple of bottles of rum been enough to get Ernest through the ordeal?
As I write these words, I worry whether I will lose what I wrote before I figure out how to save it. Am I not only ruining my life (and Uncle Nunzi’s who hears my swear words), but the life of Joe Myers here at the newspaper by driving him to drink as well? Will these words ever see the light of day and get to you, Joe?
I am cheered by the fact that I have mastered accessing the Internet. Oh my, I just hit the “backspace” button and wiped out my last paragraph. Where was I?
I will now save and hit send. Joe, did you get my column?
