I didn't have a cell phone or Internet access until my freshman year of college. Before that I lived a life void of TMZ and Zappos and YouTube, and I only called my friends from my kitchen. I often experience a type of nostalgic sadness when I see a slew of 15-year-olds pecking out text messages on their cell phones. They don't realize all they're missing because of all they have.
When my dad moved me into my freshman dorm, he was determined to get me "online" before he left town again—so he'd be able to get a hold of me whenever he wanted (or, more likely, so he could check the stats on espn.com while he was in the middle of nowhere). He spent hours at my desk that day, trying to figure out this and that. I was so antsy to go and buy my books and visit campus that I kept pleading for him to do it later. "I don't need the Internet this instant," I remember whining. And all I can think now is, Whoa, who was that girl?
Once I had the Internet at my fingertips all those years ago, I really didn't know what to do with it other than forward a ridiculous amount of e-mail messages to my friends with the subject line always reading a slight variation of, YOU'VE BEEN HIT BY THIS WINTER'S FIRST VIRTUAL SNOWBALL! SPLAT! NOW SEND THIS ON TO FIVE PEOPLE OR YOUR TRUE LOVE WILL BREAK YOUR HEART!
I took actual notes in my college classes—IN SPIRALS—as only a few of my classes offered downloadable versions which, sure, was a fantastic idea but it also made it ridiculously easy for me to sleep through every 8 o'clock Oceanography class I had. I also registered for the first few semesters of college BY PHONE. The system is hilarious in hindsight. Each student had a certain call-in time, and your call-in time was the same as THOUSANDS of other hungover college students, so you'd inevitably get busy signal upon busy signal. And then finally, around 4AM, you'd get through to the automated menu, and you would have precisely 15 minutes to type in each of your preferred courses' codes. And, OF COURSE, all the good Spanish classes (taught by the prof who never made you actually speak Spanish) were filled by then and you'd be stuck with the woman who didn't speak English AT ALL.
I remember my first cell phone's pop-off screen being more exciting than the actual ability to call people from wherever I happened to be. I remember the allure of AOL instant messaging and I remember when MySpace didn't exist. I remember when my home computer was for playing Minesweeper and writing ridiculous odes to the 49ers and not for following Britney's delusional antics. (I also remember when Britney was just adorable.)
Sometimes it makes me sad, all those "remember whens" are exclusive to my generation. It's disconcerting that so many kids can type faster than their parents but can't seem to differentiate between your and you're as all they're used to typing is u r.
But, at the same time, without all this there wouldn't be all of you, at least not in my particular life. And I must say— after mentioning to a fellow blogger that The Time Traveler's Wife is apparently the best book I haven't read and then a week or so later RECEIVING it from her, just like that, and after ordering a few cards from this fabulous woman's Etsy shop and receiving, along with the order, a free (handmade!) magnet, just because—there are beautiful, glimmering silver linings on the technology-obsessed cloud hovering over today's society.
Thank you for brightening up my mailbox, for one, and for reminding me the next time I see some little tween more interested in her hot pink cell phone than any book ever written, that perhaps she'll grow up to be a blogger, and that wouldn't be so bad, would it? Also, that thought may stop me from glaring at her while hollering, "Put some clothes on and stop dressing like a skank!" With that said, Mike thanks you, too.