So I admit, I don't do much with technology. My cell phone only makes calls and has no fancy ring tones. Just the one it came with. I don't text. I don't even have my cell phone number memorized. Even more pathetic, I don't have a voice mailbox set up for it. If I don't answer, you don't get me.
And that's just the cell phone. I don't tweet. I don't Facebook, I don't MySpace. I don't upload videos to YouTube.
I don't have call waiting on my home phone. If you call here and someone's talking, you'll actually get a busy signal.
Yet even with all I don't do, I'm light years ahead of where I was. I grew up with a rotary dial phone. No answering machine. I'd tell my friends to let it ring at least ten times before hanging up.
When I went to college in 1990, it was the first time I ever used a microwave or a washing machine and dryer. I bought myself a touch tone phone and an answering machine.
No, I wasn't Amish. It's how things were at my house. I grew up with three generations in one house. My grandmother's house. She was the quintessential matriarch of all times. Even though I was born in the seventies, I was raised like I was living in the forties. Just how it was.
And now, my friend has sent me a tiny youtube video for my cell phone and I'm scared. I'm not even sure if my cell phone will do it. The invite asks for my cell phone number, and I don't even know it to try. So I am officially a techno freak.
And if you've ever read this blog at all, you know I'm also a paranoid conspiracy theorist. So giving out information about myself will only exacerbate that part of my personality. Which usually yields crazed and embarrassing results. So I'm ignoring the invitation. I'm sticking my head in the sand and refusing to open that can of worms.
Power Washing the Boys
1 day ago