The other night I texted my wife that I was at Dick's (Sporting Goods). Autocorrect had me saying I was at Dickface. Fuck it, I sent it anyway.
All I do is complain about my phone and my computer. The things they aren't doing that I need them to do. The things they are doing that I want them to stop doing.
And all everyone else does is shrug and tell me I can change my preferences. Or I should download an app. Or I need to upgrade my software or my hardware.*
I prefer not to.
Every second I spend engaged in these activities feels to me like an outrageous theft of my precious time on this earth.
Whereas the following activities seem like an entirely reasonable use of my time:
Reading the Sunday New York Times all afternoon while drinking orange blossoms and drifting in and out of sleep like a hospice patient.
Punching the wind with my face for hours on end on Midwestern backroads that are like all other Midwestern backroads.
Mowing my backyard three times with a reel mower to make it look "tight."
Watching Republicans play golf on TV.
You know what.
And thinking up items to turn brief blog gripes about technology into more substantive litanies on life.
I know: I need to change my preferences.
* Studs Terkel, who referred to blogs as "bloogs," used to think that since hardware stores sold hammers and nails, software stores must sell pillows and blankets.