My inner Luddite is crying

Wait for dial tone

I'm what they call a late adopter. I resist technology for as long as possible and do my fair share of grumbling when I finally relent. Until recently, I had been able to stave off the pressure to use a cell phone. Not get one, mind you. I've had one for years as a safety measure, but I left it turned off and out of sight and tended to forget that it was even there. Upon marrying Dr. H., it became clear that I would be able to resist no more. Before I knew it, I had a new phone, a new number, and a firm, but polite, request from my beloved that I used the blasted thing. The things we do for love.

It started off fairly well. I'm a sucker for a camera of any shape or form, so playing with the simple one on the phone was a source of fun. I also decided to limit who has my new number, so the darn thing wouldn't be ringing all the time. My mom always said I couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time, so the idea of me talking on the phone while shopping or driving or doing most anything ranges from laughable to scary. I had made my peace. I'd turn it off when I went out, and when it rang at home, it was guaranteed to be someone I'd be happy to talk to.

Or so I thought.

Apparently, my new number has a long and storied history. It began when I received a text message one weekend: Na na na like everyday ... like my Ipod's stuck on replay. Um ... ok. I assumed it was a wrong number, until the next message came in: Hey love. I'm at a wrestling tournament. Be back Thursday. Oh dear. On Thursday, I received: What are your New Year's plans?

Since this wasn't a one time wrong number, I decided to text back: I'm sorry, but you have the wrong number. An hour later, I get the following reply: You're so funny. I just got back from a wrestling tournament, and I was thinking about driving home to spend New Year's with my hometown amigos.


Since wrestler boy wasn't going away on his own, I asked Kurt to call and let him know that he had the wrong person. I thought about doing it myself, but the way things were going, he'd probably think I was his long lost girlfriend. If he hadn't noticed that she never replied to his texts, how perceptive could he be? So Kurt calls and leaves a voicemail politely explaining the situation. I assume that will be the end of it. The next day I receive: Hello? You coming up tonight?


I had to call our cell phone provider to block the number to put an end to the texts. Just when I thought it was safe, I received a voicemail: Hi Rebecca, this is Mr. X from Company X. Please call me immediately concerning Mr. Y. This number was listed as his emergency contact information.

My inner Luddite is crying.

And saying, "I told you so."


Snorfle no more

Sea lions
Pier 39, San Francisco, CA ~ August 2009

Pier 39 was one of Kurt's 'must-see' places on our trip to San Francisco last summer. Years ago, sea lions began slowly taking over this pier at Fisherman's Wharf. They became quite a tourist attraction, appearing on t-shirts and being photographed by a mob of tourists on the dock. There were hundreds of them when Kurt and I visited in August, basking in the sun, taking the occasional dip in the bay, and most of all stinking and snorfling and making one heck of a racket. Kurt stayed to watch them, but the smell quickly drove me to nearby shops. While I find sea lions charming individually, a mob of them was more than my poor nose could handle.

Still, they are a San Francisco landmark, and I was surprised to read this morning that just after Thanksgiving, the sea lions disappeared from Pier 39. In October there were nearly 2000 and by December merely 20. Apparently, warmer water off the coast of California depleted their food source, and they headed north to Oregon where anchovies are especially plentiful. I'm sure nearby businesses will miss the tourists they attracted (although the empty pier has become a bit of a draw), but I wonder if a few don't secretly enjoy the newfound peace and quiet.



My MacBook died.

In rural Michigan.

Not good.

I lasted a week without my music, photos, Lightroom, GIMP, email, Facebook, and, worst of all, without Google. I hadn't realized how dependent I'd become on having information a click away. One evening, I made list of Things I Want To Google But Can't. Behold!

cost of a trip to Dubai
rabbit punch
Leroy Neiman Rocky III
True Believer linguine
2009 tax code changes
Jacques Torres wicked hot chocolate
Danish butter cookie pretzel recipe
turbinado sugar Trader Joe's
how to ripen a cantaloupe

In case you're curious: Leroy Neiman played the ring announcer in Rocky's match with the wrestler; you can ripen a cantaloupe in a brown paper bag; a rabbit punch is a punch to the base of the skull (ouch!); the True Believer linguine recipe is originally from Marcella Hazan and is apparently edible/good. I'll be getting to the rest in just a moment ...