My Mac and I, usually the best of friends, have been on the outs lately. Thoughts of our relationship tend to bring on a dull headache.
It's not really the computer, but what it brings into my life that has me grumpy. This morning I spent a half-hour ridding my spam mailbox of thousands of spam emails offering me enhancements for body parts I don't own and millions of dollars if I'll only provide all my private information. I try to imagine the sort of person whose job would entail spewing out this useless drivel into cyberspace, but then most of that work is probably done by a machine that doesn't care what information it disseminates. I don't really want to look into it, so I'm grateful to those who do, such as
Spamhaus, which has issued a whitelist of the 200 biggest spam-producers in the world so those so inclined can wreak vengeance on them, hopefully without death threats (see below).
Even worse are the pseudo "comments" that start off sucking up to me with lavish praise and then segue into what they're selling, everything from fashion gear to dental appurtenances and photos of subteen Asian girls. And then there are the well-intentioned chain emails that promise phenomenal good fortune if I participate and hint at an evil fate if I delete, from friends I'd really like to hear from, if they could bestir themselves to send a personal message.
It's not just the spam that's getting to me. A few weeks ago I read a New York Times
series on the downside of long-term intensive exposure to digital devices: impatience, forgetfulness, impaired learning... not to speak of the physical effects of all that
sitting. I started thinking about how many times a day I check my email and blog comments, like a lonesome little kid looking for attention. When I'm surfing the Net, I've been noticing how my body shuts down, my metabolism seems to be on low-burner and a fog sets in, closing off the world around me until all I want to do is go back to bed.
Now that most of our computer work is done for the season, it seems ludicrous to be so bonded to this machine. I just got my bicycle fixed. The pool, contaminated by the flood in September, has been cleaned recently. More than a dozen empty planter pots await new greenery in my little garden. Cooler weather has been beckoning me outside for long walks. Two dogs watch me hopefully for a hint we might be going out: my Chica and the neighbors' Akira, a Yorkie who spends the days with us so she doesn't have to be locked in an empty house while her owners are away on their 12-hour workdays.
My guitar sits waiting, and I'm reminded of Keith Richards' remark in his new biography, "Life," that every moment spent not learning the blues is a sin. Keith's not a good influence, but he might have a point there. The computer is my source of lyrics and chords for each new song I learn, but only until the song's printed out.
So I'm doing a 180 from my mindset of September, when I was thinking of blogging every day for a month, just to see if I could do it. My blog posts may be somewhat sporadic now, while I'm missing in action, out seeking some balance. I may lose the few faithful readers I had. I may miss out on some astounding news.
So be it. Life beckons.
