Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Back. The traditional benefits of vacation continue to elude me, its smooth, relaxing contours little more than a pleasant fiction, and I unapologetically prefer it this way. For children of the Internet, especially those who toil for the Internet, unplugging completely is increasingly becoming an antiquated notion. Remember when you were a kid, first day at school after a long summer break, trying to will your atrophied fingers to hold a pen and write your name without the shakes? It’s kind of like that, except checking out for long stretches in this era invites hundreds, perhaps thousands of e-mails that threaten to snap your fingers clean off.

Now, I still despise cell phones and their ilk, which in my mind are grim templates that determine what shape cancer will form along your waist and groin area. An oncologist’s cookie cutter set, as it were, assuming you don’t drive into a ravine during a particularly engrossing conversation before then. I subscribe on a monthly basis, instead, to this idea of connecting on my own terms. Let’s call it My-Fi. Sure, you can have a computer nearby–with online capabilities, even!–but it must be attached to a table, rather than your ass.

I think it’s a fair compromise that still enables you to stem the tide of communication. How long this philosophy will last, however, remains to be seen. You can be sure as shit I won’t be Twittering anytime soon, of course. Come Thursday, I’d like to return to the topic of golf, though let it be known: it will be the last post about the accursed custom for a while.