Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a hater of technology. I like it. I like my laptop. I like my cell-phone. I especially like my coffee maker with the timer.
But sometimes it bugs me that now, because of technology, when you’re with someone, you’re not really with someone (Godfather, anyone?). You meet a friend for tea, but their cell phone rings half a dozen times, so in the middle of a heart-to-heart she breaks to talk to Suzy about bringing snacks for the next event.
Now, I happen to be lucky. I have a couple of wonderful friends who don’t answer the phone just because it rings if we’re having coffee together. I appreciate that.
Or there’s the evening together–spent around the boob tube. Ah, yes. Some real bonding time. Stimulating conversation.
Today my husband and I leave to go camping, to get away from the TV and cell phone to have conversations and pray and wonder at the beauty.
Of course, I say all this, but if my cell phone were to have a day without service or my cable were to crash, then I’d be lashing out in major diatribes.
(Note: I just realized that I already have a label "diatribe." How often do I do this?)

Once a month we receive a community magazine. It’s mostly a who’s who of our suburb and a socialite calender. Nothing special. But occasionally something will strike me as funny, and if nothing else, it’s great writing fodder (talk about your quirks). This month, I lit upon an article critiquing greetings. The writer tells a common anecdote. She steps into Starbucks and asks the barista, "How are you?" "Tired." Ooh! I suck air through my teeth ready for a good tirade on that answer, on how our stock answer "tired" is bad because we’ve made busyness our king and we need to learn to stop and smell the roses.
Not so much.
She writes, "They don’t understand that it’s merely a greeting and not really a question."
In other words, I don’t care a flying leap about how you are. In fact the last thing I want to know when I ask, "How are you?" is how you are. Now this is exactly the sort of reputation I would hope a writer would cultivate in the States, in my neighborhood. Uh-huh.
"I resisted the urge to scold [the barista] for staying up so late, paid for my latte, and, after wishing her a good day, left." She claims that this greeting is "simply my attempt at being friendly." How friendly can it be when your response to anything other than "fine" is irritation?
She ends by saying, "I’m afraid my attitutde is a bit curmudgeon-ish. [Ya think?] Perhaps I’m the one who is out of step, and I need to come up with a new greeting." Like "Don’t mess with Texas" or something equally as "friendly."