Tags: modern life


Phone spam?

Have you noticed that after years of peace and quiet at dinner time, you're suddenly getting calls from telemarketers again? Guess what? It turns out signing up on the "Do No Call" register lasts only for three years. Even if you signed up, your registration may have expired. To check and to re-register, you can go to the National Do Not Call registry.

No one's gonna do it for you.

A comment on our times

I've always liked Nora Ephron's work. She always seemed a lot like Dorothy Parker only nicer—a wit but not an acid wit. I saw a very clever piece by her in today's New York Times on the six stages of e-mail. It's a riff on the Stages of Grief thing. Stage One is Infatuation. Next is Clarification, then Confusion, Disenchantment, Accommodation... and Death. As someone who can remember when e-mail was new, I could relate.

Some of my favorite lines...

"...The phone occasionally forces you to make actual plans with the people you talk to — to suggest lunch or dinner—even if you have no desire whatsoever to see them. No danger of that with e-mail.

"[e-mail] was just born and overnight it turns out to have a form and a set of rules and a language all its own.

"I have 112 unanswered e-mail messages. I’m a writer— imagine how many unanswered messages I would have if I had a real job."

For Stage Six (Death!) it just says "Call me." I'm not entirely sure what she means by that. Could be e-mail only stops at death. Could be that she's given up on e-mail.

Heavens no! I wonder if she ever blogs?

Highway from Hell

Let me just say up front, I hate Interstate 95. It runs north and south, like the spine of the east coast, with a touch of scoliosis where it angles down from Baltimore and then goes around Washington, DC. When I drive the 120 miles to see my mother in Richmond, about 80+ miles of it is on I95.

I hate that road! There are too many huge monster trucks that you pass on the up-hill stretches only to look in your rear-view mirror and see the same damn truck bearing down on you on the downhill. Too many cars, not enough road, and there's always at least one fender bender by the side of the road that everyone slows down to look at.