I'm here. I know you all were wondering. It's been a busy few weeks. I promise to resurface soon.
P.S. I've heard from someone who's received a text message from l42. All is fine, but she doesn't have an internet connection yet.
- theCallowQueen
- In the down-hill tumble of life, I'm okay with the scratches and bruises; it's the broken bones that I'm trying to avoid.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
my cell phone cell
Sometimes I feel trapped by my cell phone. I mean, it's always with me. Without it, my link to the world disappears. Without it, I feel disconnected, lost. I recently tried to catch up on some of my blog reading (I'm quite far behind right now), and I read one of Teri Franta's weekly Friday musings. This one ("Quit screaming in my purse") got me thinking about my life with my cell phone. It's been six years; maybe it's time to evaluate the effect of this supposed communicator.
I got my first cell phone when I was in college. I was sick of remembering/locating/using a phone card just to call my parents who lived 50 miles away. My parents were worried about their only child--their baby--driving home for the weekends on dark country highways. And, as a female, there were concerns with walking around campus and to the dorms late at night.
So I got a cell phone. And I'm one of those people who operates sans landline. I had one for a while, but no one would ever call it. They knew they could call my cell and get a direct line to me, though my roommate was excellent at taking messages when they did call the landline.
One problem I've found with being a cell-phone-dependent person with cell-phone-dependent friends is that we no longer plan in advance. It used to be that a call from a friend at anytime on a Friday to do something that night was an insult. A call on Friday meant you were the last-ditch effort. It meant your friend originally had other plans (that didn't include you), but plans fell through, and now they're scrambling to find someone--anyone--to do something with to salvage the evening.
Now, it’s commonplace that the “so what are you up to tonight” call is made just minutes before departure to a place or before the activity begins. We no longer think further than an hour beyond the present. If something goes wrong, if something unexpected pops up, our cell phones are nearby so there’s no need to bother with thinking ahead.
I think this cell phone culture has led to devaluing relationships. When I receive a phone call just as my friends are leaving for a restaurant, I appreciate the opportunity to go along, but I also wonder, "Why couldn't they have let me know they were going out sooner? Does my company mean so little?" And maybe I just ate something. Or maybe I just got back from the gym and need to shower. I wouldn't be able to go. But that's OK; they'll just call me next time. But it's not OK. It makes interactions with others disposable. It means we no longer feel the need to put effort and time into our relationships and interactions with each other.
I don't mean to imply that my friends don't care about me. And I'll admit that I'm most definitely an offender in this area. But there is a difference in the quality of interactions between whoever-can-come spur-of-the-moment activities and preplanned time to invest in your relationship with someone. I think we're lacking in the latter.
And then there’s that issue of quiet time. My cell phone is always on. Recently, though, I've started to make much more uses of the silent and vibrate functions--and my ability to simply ignore or turn off my annoying cell phone ring when a call comes through has vastly improved. The result: My grandmother thinks I ignore her. She knows I have my cell phone with me at all times, so what other reason could there be? And I didn't call back within five minutes. Maybe there's something wrong. Maybe I'm upset with her. Maybe she should call again.
Maybe we all need to cut the cell phone strings and chill a bit. I know I need to free myself from my cell.
I got my first cell phone when I was in college. I was sick of remembering/locating/using a phone card just to call my parents who lived 50 miles away. My parents were worried about their only child--their baby--driving home for the weekends on dark country highways. And, as a female, there were concerns with walking around campus and to the dorms late at night.
So I got a cell phone. And I'm one of those people who operates sans landline. I had one for a while, but no one would ever call it. They knew they could call my cell and get a direct line to me, though my roommate was excellent at taking messages when they did call the landline.
One problem I've found with being a cell-phone-dependent person with cell-phone-dependent friends is that we no longer plan in advance. It used to be that a call from a friend at anytime on a Friday to do something that night was an insult. A call on Friday meant you were the last-ditch effort. It meant your friend originally had other plans (that didn't include you), but plans fell through, and now they're scrambling to find someone--anyone--to do something with to salvage the evening.
Now, it’s commonplace that the “so what are you up to tonight” call is made just minutes before departure to a place or before the activity begins. We no longer think further than an hour beyond the present. If something goes wrong, if something unexpected pops up, our cell phones are nearby so there’s no need to bother with thinking ahead.
I think this cell phone culture has led to devaluing relationships. When I receive a phone call just as my friends are leaving for a restaurant, I appreciate the opportunity to go along, but I also wonder, "Why couldn't they have let me know they were going out sooner? Does my company mean so little?" And maybe I just ate something. Or maybe I just got back from the gym and need to shower. I wouldn't be able to go. But that's OK; they'll just call me next time. But it's not OK. It makes interactions with others disposable. It means we no longer feel the need to put effort and time into our relationships and interactions with each other.
I don't mean to imply that my friends don't care about me. And I'll admit that I'm most definitely an offender in this area. But there is a difference in the quality of interactions between whoever-can-come spur-of-the-moment activities and preplanned time to invest in your relationship with someone. I think we're lacking in the latter.
And then there’s that issue of quiet time. My cell phone is always on. Recently, though, I've started to make much more uses of the silent and vibrate functions--and my ability to simply ignore or turn off my annoying cell phone ring when a call comes through has vastly improved. The result: My grandmother thinks I ignore her. She knows I have my cell phone with me at all times, so what other reason could there be? And I didn't call back within five minutes. Maybe there's something wrong. Maybe I'm upset with her. Maybe she should call again.
Maybe we all need to cut the cell phone strings and chill a bit. I know I need to free myself from my cell.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
driving hazard
I shouldn't be allowed to operate a vehicle on city roads. The highway might be permissible, but if intersections and turning are involved, I should stick to the passenger's seat.
Friday, January 13, 2006
baby prepared for takeoff
I just put this photo of my good friend (and ex-co-worker) and her absolutely adorable son on Flickr. He looks like his daddy.
I just had to share.
I just had to share.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
wednesday lunch
I get sushi for lunch! Whee! And I get to see two of my favorite ex-co-workers.
Sadly, Kat is now too far away to join us. But yay for Kat for leaving to work at that big company!
Sadly, Kat is now too far away to join us. But yay for Kat for leaving to work at that big company!
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
photo: snow storm
I have a moment to post. I don't have any thoughts that I'm prepared to share with you all at the moment. So, I thought I'd give you all a photo to look at. The weather today may be dreary, but at least it isn't as bad as the snowstorm at the beginning of December.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Thursday, January 05, 2006
the stupid bus
I was almost to work this morning when I saw that the right lane (which I was in) was closed. Traffic is usually thick in this area, so I didn't think there was an issue until I hit the top of the hill. Then I had the challenge of trying to squeeze into the packed line of cars to my left. Joy.
Next to me there was a minivan with those annoying little puffs of colored ribbon tied to the four corners of the luggage rack on the roof and behind the minivan was a school bus. Now, there was a little extra room in front of the minivan, but that would require speeding up and seem a bit rude. I didn't want to be considered a line jumper. Besides, school buses have to be more polite; they have kids on board. So I turn my blinker on to get in front of the school bus.
It doesn't let me in. Not only that but it speeds up to drive the point home. It's all pettiness, because the bus turns left soon after. Argh. Anyway, so I speed up to try to get in that space in front of the minivan. There's a good car length there, my blinker was on, and I thought all was good. I gave the little thank-you wave and begin to get over. The minivan speeds up and honks at me.
Geez people. I'd understand this attitude if I was a line jumper who speed down the soon to end line to slip into an undeserved spot. But I was trying politely to take my place in line right when notice was given that the lane was closed up ahead. Give me a break people. I'm just trying to get to work.
Side note: My shoes are very cute today.
Next to me there was a minivan with those annoying little puffs of colored ribbon tied to the four corners of the luggage rack on the roof and behind the minivan was a school bus. Now, there was a little extra room in front of the minivan, but that would require speeding up and seem a bit rude. I didn't want to be considered a line jumper. Besides, school buses have to be more polite; they have kids on board. So I turn my blinker on to get in front of the school bus.
It doesn't let me in. Not only that but it speeds up to drive the point home. It's all pettiness, because the bus turns left soon after. Argh. Anyway, so I speed up to try to get in that space in front of the minivan. There's a good car length there, my blinker was on, and I thought all was good. I gave the little thank-you wave and begin to get over. The minivan speeds up and honks at me.
Geez people. I'd understand this attitude if I was a line jumper who speed down the soon to end line to slip into an undeserved spot. But I was trying politely to take my place in line right when notice was given that the lane was closed up ahead. Give me a break people. I'm just trying to get to work.
Side note: My shoes are very cute today.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
the hatchling
When people speak of a person’s metamorphosis, they usually are comparing the person’s change with that of a butterfly breaking from its cocoon and flying away in a reborn body. I feel like I’m going through a metamorphosis. But I’m not a butterfly. I feel more like a newly hatched chick.
I’ve broken through the shell and am standing awkwardly on my new little legs. I’m unsure and uncertain of my surroundings. I’m that chick with the egg goo matting down her feathers.
I’m one of the last chicks in the incubator to hatch. I stayed in my shell too long. I stayed where I was warm and comfortable and felt safe. But safe, of course, I was not. Remember what happens to the eggs that don’t hatch. Their occupants die and are thrown away.
Thankfully, by some shine of the incubator light through my shell or perhaps a bit of boredom, I moved a bit and a bit more and then couldn’t get comfortable again. I finally realized I’d out grown my shell. It was time to break free.
Now, I’m not someone who closes her eyes and jumps. I’m the one who crawls up to the edge and peeks over to see the fall. I’m the one who must touch her toe in the water before going in. I’m the chick that first makes a tiny hole to peak through into the new world –- cautious, timid, worried.
But I’m also a fretter. I begin to pick at the edges of the hole -– not so much because I want to get out –- remember, I really like the safety and warmth I felt inside my shell –- but more out of boredom and worry -– the way that a child picks at a scattered scab that runs in bits along a limb. It’s just a little bit here, and, oh, that little bit there was about to come off anyway.
I’m so involved with worrying about the shell that I fail to notice my surroundings. I’ve hatched. I’ve hatched?! Oh my, I’ve hatched! Ahh, I don’t know what to do. This feels so weird.
I look around at all the other chicks. They don’t have goo matting down their feathers. They are beautiful with feathers all puffed up and sticking out in soft, yellow glory. And they’ve got this movement thing down. I’m still trying to stand. I’m not beautiful or talented like them. But a part of me knows that I can be just like them. I mean, if they can do it, I should be able to do it too.
So, I’m a chick with goo. Appealing, isn’t it? Oh, especially that bit of litter that’s stuck to my backside. I tried to roll around to remove it but only picked up more. Ah, well. At least I don't know yet that I'm going to end up as someone's dinner.
I’ve broken through the shell and am standing awkwardly on my new little legs. I’m unsure and uncertain of my surroundings. I’m that chick with the egg goo matting down her feathers.
I’m one of the last chicks in the incubator to hatch. I stayed in my shell too long. I stayed where I was warm and comfortable and felt safe. But safe, of course, I was not. Remember what happens to the eggs that don’t hatch. Their occupants die and are thrown away.
Thankfully, by some shine of the incubator light through my shell or perhaps a bit of boredom, I moved a bit and a bit more and then couldn’t get comfortable again. I finally realized I’d out grown my shell. It was time to break free.
Now, I’m not someone who closes her eyes and jumps. I’m the one who crawls up to the edge and peeks over to see the fall. I’m the one who must touch her toe in the water before going in. I’m the chick that first makes a tiny hole to peak through into the new world –- cautious, timid, worried.
But I’m also a fretter. I begin to pick at the edges of the hole -– not so much because I want to get out –- remember, I really like the safety and warmth I felt inside my shell –- but more out of boredom and worry -– the way that a child picks at a scattered scab that runs in bits along a limb. It’s just a little bit here, and, oh, that little bit there was about to come off anyway.
I’m so involved with worrying about the shell that I fail to notice my surroundings. I’ve hatched. I’ve hatched?! Oh my, I’ve hatched! Ahh, I don’t know what to do. This feels so weird.
I look around at all the other chicks. They don’t have goo matting down their feathers. They are beautiful with feathers all puffed up and sticking out in soft, yellow glory. And they’ve got this movement thing down. I’m still trying to stand. I’m not beautiful or talented like them. But a part of me knows that I can be just like them. I mean, if they can do it, I should be able to do it too.
So, I’m a chick with goo. Appealing, isn’t it? Oh, especially that bit of litter that’s stuck to my backside. I tried to roll around to remove it but only picked up more. Ah, well. At least I don't know yet that I'm going to end up as someone's dinner.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
