The Intraweb

Every now and then (daily) I have...issues with my computer.

At home, my sweetheart has a powerful machine with a big, flat-screen monitor upon which she can check her email, go on Facebook, etc. with a minimum of trouble.

My baby girl has a Macbook with all the options.

I operate from an old Compaq Presario which is, to put it mildly, tempermental.  Or maybe just mental.  I can't tell the difference.

I never know when I come in to work whether my Mustang screensavers will be showing, or if I'll have the dreaded black screen with the Windows XP (that's right, I like living on the edge of technology) playing Pong with the sides of my borrowed monitor.  Seeing the black screen means that at some point overnight my computer rebooted itself.  For what reason, I don't know.

I am computer illiterate.  The thing kept shutting off every ten minutes or so about a month back, and I was told I needed a new power source for it.  No problem.  I drove to the closest source for a power source, plunked down my forty bucks (remember that amount-- a future post is dedicated to it), and took my new power source, had someone who knew what they were doing install it, and I was off and running again.  For about twenty minutes at a clip this time.

Currently I have a small fan behind the CPU keeping the guts of the computer cool so it won't shut off.  Lovin' life and livin' large.

Which brings me to the other thing.  I think my computer knows too much about me.

I have to "log in" to everything I want to see or do.  As I log in, the site asks, "Do you want me to remember this information?"  WHO ARE "YOU"?  After which it will welcome me back or in or whatever that site says about me being there.

Reminds me of what Lewis Grizzard, that great theologian, said about flying in to Atlanta.  The men's room was the only thing glad to see him.  The lights came on when he walked in, and after he did his business, the toilet cried as he was leaving.

My wife and children have Facebook accounts.  There are people on there Jennie hasn't seen in over thirty years, and others I don't care if I ever see again.  Oh, the joy and freedom of saying "no".

I grew up in a small town, where everybody knew everybody else.  And their children.  We didn't need Twitter or Facebook for folks to know what was going on.  We had parents.

A Barnesville police officer was married to my friend Steve's sister.  Anytime--and I mean anytime--some kind of meanness happened he'd head straight to Sims Street to find out where Steve and I were and what we'd been doing.  The first time I rode my bicycle to town alone Mama had folks all along Carleeta Street watching me, there and back.

Not too long ago, I tried to text my daughter A) to see if I could and 2) to tell her "I love you".  I couldn't, and I couldn't.  It came out like this:  "H knud wmv".  She understood.

And to think I used to wish I was important enough to have a pager.

I don't videoconference, have a Blackberry or PDA, and can barely operate my email.  Who needs MySpace?

For what it's worth, I really don't want everyone in the world knowing what I'm doing "right now", or any other time for that matter.  My life's been an open book to far too many people for far too long.  Time to close it.  And just say no.

So I won't follow you on Twitter, be your friend on Facebook, watch you on YouTube, or anything else.  I'm behind the times and intend to stay there for as long as I can.  Those who really matter have all the information they can stand.  If you need me you know where to find me.

I live at the end of the first driveway on the right when you turn left off Ben Higgins onto Still Road.  See you at the house.