Isn't it a wonder....

I’ve been thinking about this Internet thing, the cyberSPACE Al Gore invented years before he aspired to be president of this fair land. Where was I, and what class did I miss that culminated in the consummation of this wonderful medium? My God, I never even knew anyone who thought of such amazing things when I was a teen-ager. Now it consumes me.

I cannot image life without my computer and the Internet. Prior to this, what did I do? It most likely was nothing more than television reruns of “F Troop” and “Mama’s Family.” What a waste of time that must have been, but I knew nothing different. It mystifies me how much smarter I would have been had the computer been part of my life earlier. I am convinced there is nothing I cannot learn by logging onto this confounded machine.

It is the first thing I do in the morning. Yes, even before I make my coffee I wake up the computer. I want it ready and raring to go when my cup is full. I spend most of the morning writing, and checking details whenever needed on the Internet. Then I get distracted by one of those news alerts, and I am a gonner. To hell with writing! What’s going on in the world?

And what would I do if I awoke and had not one e-mail message? I think I’d freak out. Nobody loves me anymore. Oh my God, did I die in my sleep?

We’ve all found ways around that, though. It is why we subscribe to the joke of the day, love quote of the day and sale of the day. Why is it the same solicitations over the phone piss me off so bad I could spit, but I welcome them in my inbox? All of which spawns even a greater thought: Why do I still even accept messages on a telephone network? I don’t need a phone. I can converse all I want in cyberSPACE. I do everything on the Internet.

I can’t remember the last time I walked into a store to buy a Christmas present. Not me. I buy online all year long. Even before I quit driving an automobile, I shopped on the Internet. It simply saved time and energy. I buy ink for my printer on the Internet, upload all the photos I want printed and even get free shipping for razor blades.

As I embrace middle age and being a grandparent, the Internet also brings those babies so close to me that I can kiss them. I’m graced by the blessing all my children are computer addicts like me. They live at the three corners of the nation, but I see them and talk to them with regularity my parents could not imagine. I am humbled by their devotion to staying in touch with “old dad,” and I repay them by sending them e-mails, IMs and as many attachments as I can muster.

Here is another scoop. I even have found a whole new circle of friends on the Internet. I know you’re shocked because you thought I used it just for purchases. Wrong! I’ve used it to stay in touch with former colleagues, former lovers and an amazing ganglia of friends from almost every state in the country.

I am so addicted to the Internet. I think I am going to initiate a self-help group. We’ll call it Internet Anonymous because some of us need help staying away. After all, the Web is the Jack Daniels of middle age. It is exotic and erotic, friendly and phenomenal, interesting and intriguing, trying and titillating, captivating and capricious.

I’ve even started to blog on EONS. Imagine that? My Microsoft Office 2000 program doesn’t even recognize the word “blog.” I’m doing it as often as possible. I guess that is a new extension of cyberME, and only my closest cyberFRIENDS are aware.

Last but not least, I marvel at some of the messages I receive in the give-and-take of cyberSPACE. They run the gamut of sexual to hilarious to oh-my-god-who-sent-that.
Like most of you, numerous widows of Nigerian government officials have requested my aid, as have Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. I disregard all of them. They go into the trash basket with the likes of one I received recently after typing my support of a member’s blog. The author wrote back and said, “Keep reading my blogs, you might learn something!”

“Really?” I thought.

Now, I could have pointed out that the author’s punctuation went awry on those eight words; that two thoughts generally are separated by a period. Then, again I could have replied, “Bite me!” Instead, I sent it into cyberOBLIVION. It felt good, too, because cyberSPACE is so vast, the author will never know.