Necessity is the mother of invention. Or is it the other way around? Doesn’t it happen that a new gadget we’d never dreamed of suddenly becomes a necessity we can’t be without?
Let me explain:
Not a tekkie by any means, I nevertheless felt stranded, branded, abandoned and empty-handed by the cell phone I forgot to take to my meeting Monday morning. And as evidence of my non-tekkieness, I didn’t join the gadget generation until later in the game. We didn’t get our cell phone until eight years ago.
What was life like without it? I recall driving to the International Sunport to pick up my sister, Dolores. A friend told us we ought not dare leave town without a phone. She loaned us hers, a rather large contraption that fit in a packing crate that could still accommodate a pony.
Bonnie thought it was silly, two grownups taking a jaunt to Albuquerque and needing a phone. Unheard of! But yet, guess who managed to place a half dozen calls, making sure contact knew, “We’re calling from a cell phone. It’s neat!”
We have it, so let’s use it.
Then came Facebook and a host of social media innovations, which we also can’t do without. Can we spell “a-d-d-i-c-t-i-v-e”? I have been on Facebook for a few years; two sons and three daughters-in-law correspond with me regularly.
One son won’t touch Facebook nor will Bonnie. But first, let’s explain a few terms: Facebook is a means of communicating with masses of people (called “friends”) whenever they’re willing and available. It’s an easy means of exchanging notes, photos and ideas.
I regret, however, that too much social media interchange consists of “dittoing” other people’s ideas, or “liking” their submissions when there’s no need to. Most of the “likes” on Facebook are phatic, merely a means of saying, “I read you,” “I agree.” There isn’t a lot of wit or wisdom on the pages, unless it’s “canned,” provided by someone else.
My take is that most of the Facebook jottings are innocuous. A friend and neighbor recently said, “I would never get on Facebook. (Except that the “never” in her utterance lasted about five seconds: neeeeeeever.
Here I must defend this ever-present party line. It’s the people, not the medium. Mean-spirited people now have ways to disseminate hateful stuff, and sure, people have suffered through cyberspace bullying; people can say nasty things about others and mar their reputations.
But that’s not Facebook’s fault. It merely gives people a chance to make quick — often banal — contact. That’s all. It’s great for exchanging hints and tips, but I believe some people go too far.
For example:
Some use Facebook to tout their wares; they have a service or product to sell, and we friends need to sift through their pitches — or discard them.
Too many friends attempt to turn Facebook into a cathedral, preaching the way, the truth and the light. Virtually guaranteeing us higher places in Heaven if we forward certain messages to all in Christendom. It’s almost as if we will become heathens if we don’t react.
Some attempt subtle blackmail: If you don’t denounce or support (fill in the blank) you are a coward! And they often write something anecdotal about the man who missed the 15-minute forwarding deadline and then dropped dead, whereas someone who met the deadline now is rich.
Some friends try to persuade others to forward messages to “all of your friends.” Now that can involve a lot of people.
Some people on Facebook have perhaps a thousand friends. Although today’s technology makes it simple to send the same message to all these people, do we really want to?
People who should know better often get the “what if?” post that promises we’ll all be as rich as Bill Gates if we merely forward a particular message. I received such a message last week, a note filled with promises that I’d make Donald Trump seem pauperish. Rather than complying and waiting anxiously by my in-box, I announced that I’d already received my fortune, and because I clicked the “send” button twice, the original $20 million had doubled. Not bad for a man who lives modestly and retired 15 years ago.
Well, the sender of the everlasting-riches message was not amused. Sorry, Friend, but I’m too busy building schools, museums, libraries and hospitals to worry about such minutiae.
• • •
We took our weekly trip to the Farmers Market, located Saturday at the Plaza. A woman sold us some peas, but not the kind you spoon or fork out of a bowl. These, the area farmer told us, were peas, but not the roundish things; instead, they were the vines to the peas.
And what do they taste like? Well, like peas, except for a different texture. You see, the vines are gnarled, complex and stringy. As the seller lifted out the half pound we ordered, we noticed she did it in one fell swoop, all of the vines sticking together, like lifting cotton or cotton candy.
On the plate, the peas were a different matter. After mixing in sunflower seeds, chopped carrots and cucumbers, we found it difficult to negotiate a forkful of the stuff. It all hung together, giving us the feeling we were swallowing spaghetti in one continuous string, which “experts” say you must never cut with your fork, nor bite off when it’s halfway into your mouth.
You’re supposed to continue swallowing it until that particular portion is done. Then repeat.
People could make a fortune by coming up with a mini-weed whacker that shreds the vines of the peas as they prepare the salad. Otherwise, consumers of the stuff might need to devote 10 minutes’ chewing time per bite.
Aside from that, how satisfying was our Farmers Market purchase? Very tasty, exactly like peas, but a bit more work to get down.
Peas be with you.