Crossing the Rubicon

Alea iacta est.

Les jeux sont faits.

Yes, yes, I’m finally on The Twitter.

What finally got me there? Was it @javachik and her incessant haranguing about all the cool kids being on The Twitter? Or Audition author @swkehoe with her “innocent” questions about whether I tweet travel?

No, it was barbeque. That’s right, barbeque. You know those days when things don’t quite go according to plan? Well, as I headed up the hill from the Heart of the City Farmers’ Market this afternoon, much later than usual due to a fabulous (but late) game night and morning (well, afternoon) hike out in the East Bay, I saw that the relatively new BBQ place on Hyde was open. Apparently, it doesn’t open until well after lunch which is why I’ve never seen it in action before. Sometimes, not being on schedule is a very good thing.

With ribs smoking out on the sidewalk, how could I not stop? And, well, they had me at Bourbon Cornbread. I resisted the Sweet Potato Rum Pie, but I already regret it. As an extra bonus, their sweet tea was decaf so I could actually try it (verdict: a bit too sweet for me, but with an interesting mapley flavor). Anyway, as I later googled to get the exact name of this slice of heaven (Hyde Away Blues BBQ & Gumbo Café at 457 Hyde Street at O’Farrell), I found their official website, which turned out to be a twitter page—where they tweet what is fresh out of the oven or hot off the grill. All I could think is: “I want to go to there!”

And, thus, @sly_wit was born.

I don’t yet know what I’ll be doing there, but, yes, I’m finally on The Twitter. Stop asking.

However, as God is my witness, I’ll never join Google+.

The Luddite Chronicles

I knew the moment was coming. Slowly things were giving way. And then it happened; the fan died. I had to get a new computer. Ugh.

I think it’s quite safe to say that I am not an early adopter. I never rush out to buy the latest gadget and I am not impressed or distracted by new technology. I’ve never purchased a TV for myself and only got a cell phone when I moved to San Francisco because the person I lived with hadn’t put in a landline. Even in the arts, I rarely prefer the modern.

So, for me, when I have to get a new computer (and I’ve kept each of my laptops for 4+ years), I feel like a 1950s housewife on a car lot. Of course, helpful friends try to give advice, but so often the people that actually know something about technology are the ones most distracted by shiny toys and apt to recommend what they would want, and not what you really need. I had a boyfriend like that. It didn’t last.

Of course, I’m grateful for the advice, because I really have no idea what the difference between processors means, but I must admit it gets tiring to hear that I must have this or that, like I’ll die without it. You must get an iPhone. You must get a Kindle. Admittedly, this may be much worse in the Bay Area where most of these things are made, but I don’t feel like foodies or clothes hounds do this to the same extent.  It’s truly mystifying to me that people can seem so invested in someone else’s purchasing decisions on household items.

One thing that did make me quite happy about this shopping trip was the fact that, for the first time, money was not an object. Price was just one of several factors to consider. Of course, since I only just completed my fully funded emergency fund, I had to dip into that, and buying a new computer is not really an emergency (like Christmas presents, a new car, or new furniture, it should be a purchase you save for over time). However, I had been planning to use my upcoming bonus for this, so I don’t feel too guilty. Well, except for the fact that solving my computer woes meant missing my planned outings to the San Francisco Film Noir festival. I do feel a bit guilty about that.

Technological Gains vs. Tactile Loss

Weeks ago, I dug out my mother’s old copy of Théâtre de Beaumarchais in order to finally read Le Barbier de Séville and Le Mariage de Figaro in preparation for seeing Le Nozze di Figaro at the San Francisco Opera. It’s one of the few books of hers that I have, and the only work of fiction. I finally opened it this past weekend. This is what I found:

Once I got over the shock that my mother wrote in books (!), I was thrilled to turn the pages and discover what she had written almost 60 years ago: thoughts and connections from years before I was born. Reading them now, more than 20 years after she died, was both fascinating and comforting. Just seeing her handwriting (so very French, so very her), brought back a flood of memories—like I could feel her fingerprints.

I’m lucky to have plenty of fond memories of both my parents, but it made me realize how lucky I am to have these tangible memories as well: letters, photos, postcards. With digital cameras, emails, and texts, are kids today even familiar with their parents’ handwriting? Are these technological gains worth the tactile loss? Are they gathering different physical memories?

As much as I personally loathe the Kindle, I never thought that one of my arguments against it would be that you couldn’t write in it. But I guess I’m particularly glad that it didn’t exist in the 50s, or I might never have known that, apparently, Mom wasn’t a fan of trilogies either—there’s not one mark in La Mère coupable.