Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Day 16: Technology

When I graduated from business school five days before giving birth to my now 15-year old son, Google did not exist. Yahoo, Netscape (remember?) did not exist. Youtube wasn't around either, not to mention Facebook and Twitter.

Technology is great when it works, but is as close to hell as I can imagine when it doesn't. This morning, I spend hours - my VOIP phone doesn't work, internet doesn't work - thank goodness for Blackberry, which has never failed me. I struggle with Comcast to no avail. But, I will not let this ruin my day. Today is 09/09/09 - lucky extreme!

I jump into my batmobile and head over the Golden Gate Bridge to see my friend. Trauma is evident, as I move back into the slow lane after spotting a police car, which turns out to be a Subaru-whatever-hatch-back-with-ski-racks-on-top. I curse the driver for generations to come, and immediately feel much better. An academic article says there is proof that cursing while in pain helps. I feel that the same is true with anger.

At 5 o'clock, I find myself in a middle school auditorium, listening to someone preach about techonology and social wellbeing. My daughter is getting a laptop! Such advance, such privilege. This is truly marvelous. My children are fortunate to have such an innovative environment, I muse while reading my emails on my Blackberry. Then the fun starts. I know the drill. I have done this many times before. I tell my daughter to dash to the front of the gym to snatch the laptop and be done with it. Sweet, innocent child - she dashes, but returns to retrieve her mother (who is thinking about deja vu, Chablis and things like that) , at which point, she loses her spot and ends up being the fourth from last to receive her coveted laptop. I wonder why, in this age of technology, we do not have a more efficient system, in which we and our offsprings are not forced to exhibit our basic instincts of competing for who gets there first.

Speaking of getting there first, Mikimoto (as in Mikomoto pearls) has an annual sale for patrons. One of my friends has purchased a barge full of pearls from Mikimoto. Going to the store in Manhattan with her, is the closest I have felt to royalty. The annual BIG sale, to which I have been only once, is all about getting there first. One year, I meet up with warriors from the sale in a wine bar. The warriors display their conquests, exchange war stories, barter goods in good humor, while frightened waiters come to refill our glasses. This is passion in its purest form.

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