My blog address has moved (thank you Kim) to its own domain, ThinkingOutLoudBlog.com, (not just a redirect) instead of renting space under ValerieMorrison.net/blog.

I really got tired of typing /blog when leaving comments, it wore me out.   Now the name of my blog matches the URL and that makes me happy. Of course, this link (http://www.valeriemorrison.net/blog) will still work, no need to worry about broken links, if you link to my blog,

If you don’t subscribe to my blog, it’s okay, now’s your chance to do so over at the new place.  Latecomers are welcome. When you do make it over there have a look around in the archives.  If you’re tired from your journey, have a sit down. You’ll find that there’s ample seating and plenty of leg room for everyone. Refreshments will be served.

So, I won’t be posting or answering comments over here any more, but over there.  Tomorrow I’ll publish a roll call post under the new domain with a very important question.  Now it’s a little difficult for me to see the hands way in the back, so please comment “present” and let me know you’re in attendance.

And if you popped over there just for the refreshments but decided not to subscribe, please leave your uneaten food in the basket by the door.  I’m sorry to see you go.

“Please come in.”

Valerie pressed her back against the wall allowing T to pass through the narrow door frame and into the living room. Lifting the strap off his shoulder, he placed his bag on the floor next to the portable CD player and removed his coat.

“Can I get you anything, like an open fire to warm your hands?”

Amused by her dead serious delivery, he replied, “Oh no, I’m going to wash and warm them before we start, don’t worry.”

“Okay, I’ll let you get unpacked and I’ll um…I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before, what should I wear?”

“Some people wear shorts or underwear and I drape a sheet over them, but you can wear whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Valerie decided she felt comfortable in a pair of shorts and would remove her top once on the table. If she had to take off any more than that, he was going to pay her.

“Take your jewelry off too,” he shouted, as Valerie disappeared into the back room. Making a choice of what to wear was easy because she only had one pair of shorts and returned as quickly as she left.

T glanced up at Valerie with an inquisitive expression on his face and without hesitation asked, “Are you an athlete?”

Valerie thought his query was just as strange as when her chiropractor had asked. She always had a shapely upper body, like a swimmer, and slender legs, like a runner and the mid-section of a person who loved cookies and chocolate. Maybe she was an athlete, of some sort. Rather than delve into his inquiry, it’s obvious he has a cataract, she simply replied, “No.”

Valerie showed T where he could plug in his CD player and assumed she would be listening to the sounds of streaming water or babbling brook, not her preferred jazz.  Good thing she went to the bathroom. Perched on the table, she turned to T and said, “I’m ready to take my shirt off now.”

Oh gosh, you sound like a virgin. I’m ready to take my shirt off now. Why are you announcing it?

Using the sheet as a shield, T held it between the two of them as Valerie removed her shirt and tried to find a comfortable position on the table. She could hear T in the background rubbing his hands together and satisfied that they were warm enough, he pulled back the sheet.

Surprisingly, Valerie did not flinch when he touched her. Maybe because his hands were better than warm, it was as if he brought his own open flame. Coming in for a perfect landing at the base of the runway, T worked his way up and down the right side of her back expelling pain and stress one knot at a time.

“Is this too much pressure?” he asked.

“No.” Valerie lied. It was a lot pressure, more than she was used to, but she wasn’t about to cry uncle. She preferred having too much, over too little pressure. Next time she would “cry uncle.” After he finished the right side of her back he did the same to the left side, applying more oil each time.

Cool! Not only am I no longer ashy, I’m waterproof.

Standing at the head of the table, T used his forearms to massage Valerie, who was only occasionally aware of the sound of the music and his breathing, into a motion-induced coma. The rhythm was so intoxicating, the last words she remembered saying was, “Oh gosh.”

****

“You can turn over now.”

Valerie felt disoriented and lost, like she was waking up from local anesthesia. She couldn’t remember how to turn over but somehow managed to roll over onto her back. T massaged the rest of her body and said he would conclude with a scalp and facial massage.

[insert the sound. of a needle. being dragged across a vinyl record.]

Did I hear that correctly, did he just say he was going to mess up my hair?

The massage was going great until he gripped Valerie’s head in between his large hands and messed up her hair! Her scalp didn’t need a massage, her scalp was fine, maybe a little dandruff, but stress free.

Didn’t anyone ever tell you never to touch a woman’s hair without 2 days notice?

Now fully awake and slightly annoyed Valerie could no longer concentrate, the massage was over. He massaged her cheeks, her eyebrows, her lips and even stuck his fingers in her ears.

Okay, if you’re looking for loose change or a generous tip, I got nothing. You were doing a much better job when I was on my stomach!

“Do you want me to massage your stomach?”

[insert the sound of another needle being dragged across a vinyl record.]

You don’t have access to that area. That’s a no-touch, no-massage zone.

“No, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay then you can just lie there and relax.”

I was very relaxed until you messed up my hair.

After the massage was over, T packed a few of his things and made small talk. Partially naked and chatting, Valerie felt a little weird, besides she wanted to get dressed and was getting cold.

“Are we done?”

“Yes, but you can rest a little while longer.”

“Nope, I’m okay!” Grabbing the sheet and holding it up against her chest, Valerie went to get dressed. She thanked T, paid his fee, but before showing him the door, he handed her a few business cards. Business cards that read TSG, Attorney-at-Law.

Wall Street address. Phone number. No email.

Valerie vaguely remembered her girlfriend telling her that he was an attorney and had seen him coming from court a few times on the train, but had forgotten.

Upon returning to work on Monday, Valerie found a New York Lawyers Diary in one of the offices. If he was a practicing attorney, he would be listed in this book. There could only be a few reasons why he would not be listed, like a recent move to the area, or maybe he just passed the bar or maybe he really is a killer and that was a body bag.

Not that it was a conflict of interest for her, he was very professional, kept her covered at all times and he didn’t try anything, it’s a matter of curiosity. She knew several attorneys personally, as well as a judge, and most of them played golf as a hobby, not gave fantastic massages and messed up women’s hair.

Valerie opened the Lawyers Diary to the letter G and scrolled down the list of names. She hoped he was listed, that would make her feel better. Maybe she missed it. She checked the spelling of his last name against what was printed on the card and looked one more time. Nothing. A little disappointed and confused, she closed the book.

Maybe having D come sit and watch wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. She would hate to lose a good massage therapist just because he wasn’t listed in the Lawyers Diary. Valerie returned the book to the shelf and called her friend.

In 37 years Valerie never had a massage.  A professional massage that is, from someone with training and not ulterior motives. She read about the benefits of massage therapy and imagined  it was on every woman’s to-do list, right up there next to get Botox injection.

She just never got around to it.  Never received a gift certificate. Never went out with girlfriends for a day of pampering. Never bothered. Her idea of pampering was an empty house, a good book and soft music. Occasional solitude was just as rejuvenating, and free.

Of course, this massage was more than an hour of indulgence, but a medical necessity.  Valerie tried chiropractic treatments, heating pads and stretching exercises for pain management.  She even purchased a portable TENS Unit to alleviate her sciatic nerve pain, but her relief was always short-lived, temporary.  Her only other treatment options were: a massage therapist, acupuncture or surgery.

The choice was easy.

Two weeks later, after asking around, she had the name and phone number of a recommend massage therapist who made house calls.  She had her doubts about letting a strange man into her home without a work order and clipboard, but he was recommended and didn’t think anything terrible would happen.  Unfolding the paper that kept his contact information, Valerie picked up the phone and dialed the number.  She never cold-called a strange man before, invited him over to the house and paid him for his services.  Gripping the phone and pressing it to her ear, Valerie’s heart thumped with doubt. Was she making the right decision? Was she putting herself in harm’s way?

After the third ring, he answered the phone. Unlike a killer’s voice, loud and abrupt, his voice was pleasant and relaxing. Valerie felt comfortable with his answers and an appointment was made for Saturday morning, 10 a.m.

****

Saturday, early.  A little annoyed with herself, Valerie took a sip of the coffee she hoped she’d be done with by now.  It’s hard to think about de-stressing and healing on a full bladder.  The last thing she wanted was to have to use the bathroom during her first massage session.

While she waited for T to arrive, Valerie went through her mental checklist of things she needed to remember. Did she remember to shave and put on deodorant? Did she remember to use lotion after showering? Did she remember to trim her toe nails?

There was no need to cut the man, unless he really is a killer.

Taking another sip of her coffee Valerie glanced down at the clock on her computer screen. It read 9:45 and her appointment was scheduled for 10:00. T called to say he had a slow leak in his car tire but was on his way.

“Take your time, I’ll be here.”

Now feeling more excited than scared about getting a massage, Valerie wondered if it was a good idea to tell D that he did not have to come and sit watch. This was no different than opening the door for the cable guy, except the cable guy doesn’t get to see her partially naked. Not even for the premium package.

The sound of the doorbell jolted Valerie away from her thoughts and she went downstairs and opened the door. A slender, light-skinned man about 5’ 11”, greeted her with a smile. He doesn’t look like a killer and besides killers don’t ring doorbells. Nor do they show up at your doorstep with a portable radio and a massage table; unless that stuff is stolen and he’s really a robber carrying a body bag and a radio for drowning out the sounds of screaming.

He was referred; invite him in and stop being silly.

“Please, come in.”

Photo by Massage-Certification.com

A few minutes later my friend replied, “Maybe she doesn’t want to go to the gym she might be quite comfortable just the way she is. There are a lot of people out there who are just fine with themselves but magazines, other people, TV, make them feel bad about their size.”

Fair enough.

I don’t doubt she’s happy or even comfortable; I just assume she would prefer to be a smaller size. I know being fat is not always about overeating, there are other factors (e.g. medical, emotional or psychological) that contribute to weight gain. Who knows what her reasons are yet we still judge or comment.

The issue of weight, especially for a woman, is a touchy subject and is not about the weight but the desire to feel wanted, accepted and loved. It seems socially acceptable to make fun of fat people because no one cares about their feelings.  “Fat people know that the first impression that others have of them may be negative. This leads to low self-esteem and shame.”

Not fair.

Losing weight is hard work, it’s not easy! Some people are choosing happiness over body size and have embraced the Fat Acceptance Movement, whose goal is to “change societal attitudes toward individuals who are fat.” I first read about fat acceptance on Kim’s blog over @ FatHappyGirl and I was moved by what she wrote below:

I think an important part of fat acceptance is really understanding what fat acceptance is. It’s personal, it’s not the same way for everyone. It isn’t just about being fat, it’s wanting to be treated equally and fairly. It’s about not wanting to be judged on being fat. It’s about being treated kindly because we are another human being. It means being free of assumptions and half truths. It means being judged less and loved more.

I’m trying to lose several pounds this year with the help of friends/family, my Wii Fit, cutting back² on junk food, making healthier food choices, portion control and regular exercise. Not everyone trying to lose weight wants to be a size 3 either, but a size comfortable.

I am not happy my clothes don’t fit anymore. I am not comfortable with my bulge, but I am a happy person. There are days when I dream of Frisbee sized cookies and days when my eyes are on the prize.  Can you be fat and healthy? Well there’s a bewildering array of conflicting opinions on the subject, but most of the studies I read said no. A few of them said yes. Can you be fat but happy? Absolutely!

So, what did I mean by my comment?  I’ve never heard anyone say they’re overweight because they want to be.  Either they don’t have the time to exercise or the money to buy nutritious foods. If someone is well off financially, to me that represents opportunity and freedom. Why wouldn’t someone use these tools to their physical advantage.

Later I apologize to my friend if I offended her with my comment, that’s never my intention, same goes with this post.  A person’s size would not prevent me from befriending or treating them with respect.  I do think it’s unfair that a person’s “worth”, especially a woman, is measured in pounds, that’s a heavy burden to bear almost more than the weight itself.

1. I’ll explain
2. not eliminating

I know it’s time to give up blogging when….the blogging mainstream is video blogging, I’m just not doing that.  I’ve seen quite a few video posts on people’s blog and to that I say, not me!

Several times I thought about ending my online life, but then I woke up the next day and thought: you fool!  Actually I did get rid of a few blogs I authored, but I’m not ready to give up on this one. ¹

Anywho, a big THANK YOU to everyone who left a comment and shared a thought or personal experience on my previous post.  Your comments were a big help to me and will always remain the best part of blogging.

The baby is fine, mommy is just going through the terrible twos.  So I’ll continue to be the diligent caretaker, other times I’ll allow her to take long naps and some times I’ll leave her in the capable hands of a CPR certified babysitter.²

When I was writing this post a weird crazy funny thought popped into my head about my mom and the newspaper. She reads the obituaries like it’s MySpace for the up in age, but instead of adding friends, you delete them.  I thought it would be cool if there were an online area where blogs could go to die.  We could search for blogs that suddenly disappear or when we’re ready to throw in the towel, we could submit a snapshot of our blog and onlookers could mourn in the comment section.  We could give our blogs a “proper burial” complete with obituary and all.

Photo: timstvshowcase.com

1. so you’re stuck with me
2. guest blogger

A blog can be compared to a newborn baby.  In the beginning, we’re really excited about our “baby”.  We tell everyone about the baby and where they can go¹ to see the baby.  We can’t wait to try on all the new clothes² we have just for the baby.

We love our baby so much that when we wake up in the morning, the first thing we do is check the baby for “movement”.³  Maybe we give the baby nourishment⁴ for the day to sustain it, keep it alive, as we continually check on the baby throughout the day.

Gradually the baby starts to grow⁵ and demands more and more of our time, but we don’t have the energy to take care of it.  Now the baby is crying for attention because we haven’t fed it in a while.  Instead of the once carefully prepared meals we used to provide, we find ourselves sitting in the drive-thru at the fast food chain of “I’m Not Dead” and “I’m Still Here” for a quick meal.

We still care for the baby, maybe we change a diaper here and there, but the excitement of the first born has worn off. In fact, we’re looking for a baby sitter.

Unlike real children who we are committed to for at least 18 years of our time, energy and expenses, that’s not the case with our blog.  We change as do our interests and what was once important, our baby, is no longer.

Maybe I took the scenic route to ask a simple question: Regarding your blog, do you have a gauge for calling it quits? Will you not be motivated or excited about blogging?  Maybe there’s nothing left for you to blog about or you’re not getting the response you hoped.  Maybe someone has trashed your efforts⁶ and you wake up one morning and wonder: Why am I doing this again?  Maybe none of this is the case, would you still contemplate throwing in the towel?

I won’t participate in the comment section for this post, but will be, and I am interested in, reading your thoughts.

Cartoon by Dave Walker. Find more cartoons you can freely re-use on your blog at We Blog Cartoons.

1. blog address
2. blog topics
3. comments
4. a post
5. we hope
6. your blog, your baby

Who's pulling your strings or controlling your life?

Do you care what other people think about you? I asked a few people this question and they said they don’t care what other people think. Well actually they said they don’t give a rat’s *** what people think, but I was putting it nicely.

Sometimes it seems like the attitude today, and not just from the younger generation, is: I’ll do what I please and if you don’t like it, then you can shove it. Some people like to believe that they live in their own world and nothing they do affects anyone. There is more concern about self and less concern about others.

Then there are the people pleasers who spend too much time caring what others think about them. They don’t live their life based on their thoughts, but on the opinions and approval of others. They thrive and need acceptance from others to feel validated as a person. I was reading something that said this need is like a drug, “it’s so addictive that most people will not give it up – they will keep looking for approval because the hit is so intense.”

“The price of the approval drug is freedom – the freedom to be ourselves.”

Personally I don’t care what others think about me, most of the time people get it wrong anyway, but I do care how I am perceived. That means I’m okay with being weird (or being different) I can contently dance to the beat of my own drum, but if someone thinks I’m a horrible person, then we need to talk. I do care about my character, who I am as a person.

My question to you is: Where, and how, do you draw the line on how much influence and control you give other people. The comment section is open for your participation.

Michael Miles, the author of Thirty Days to Change Your Life, for Free said that we should “live our life by means of a set of values - not values imposed from the outside by others, but innate values which come from within. If we are driven by these values and not by the changing opinions and value systems of others, we will live a more authentic, effective purposeful and happy life.”

Photo by starpixie on Flickr

Many years ago when I was much younger and could stay up late, I had a night time ritual. Every night before I went to bed, I would watch at least an hour of stand-up comedy on television.

I studied comedians, got to know some of them by face and many of them by name.  One night there was this new comedian performing, I don’t remember his name,¹ but I remember a portion of his act.

He joked about how everyone was always in a panic to be first. First in line to get the latest gadget. First in line at the bank. First in line at the grocery store.  He said: You know what? I don’t wanna be first, I wanna be next!²

Even though it was meant as a joke, I’ve never forgotten it and consider it one of my life lessons.  It made me wonder why we make everything, simple things, a competition to be first? I don’t know, maybe we are inherently competitive and can’t help ourselves?

There’s a guy named Greg Packer who makes a “hobby out of attending public appearances and is known for being first in line for such occasions. He is even credited with being first in line to purchase an iPhone in 2007, 110 hours before it went on sale.” Why?

I guess we love being first.  We get the attention, the bragging rights and let’s face it, sometimes it feels good being on top, but sometimes it’s an exhausting race to nowhere.

“Does being first really have the upper hand over being second or even fifth? Not necessarily.  Sometimes getting the formula right matters more than doing it first.” ³

I’m learning to be content with next.

1. sorry I’m old now
2. Awh come on, that’s funny
3. Quote from Ben Tracy

[ Note from Natural: I'm honored to present this guest-post by CardioGirl as a contribution to ThinkingOutLoudBlog.com.  When I first found her blog, I read it quietly, in awe.  Cardiogirl's gift, in my humble opinion, is her ability to write about a variety of topics and make it interesting and humorous. Show some love and support to CardioGirl as she blogs about The Day of the Fight. ]

It’s time to jump into Mr. Peabody’s WABAC (pronounced “wayback”) Machine And if you don’t know who Mr. Peabody is, you must check out the link. But please tell me you know about Mr. Peabody. I don’t want to believe I’m getting old.

Okay, let’s set the dials to Spring of 1982. There were two girls in my 8th grade gym class who did not like me — K!m S. and Lis@ F. I don’t know why, they just did not like me. I know, that’s shocking. So they would both bump into me during our gym class and do things that could be construed as a little extra game play. So the teacher didn’t do anything about it.

I’m not completely clear why, but K!m was the leader of that twosome. She was really preppy and one of the pretty girls. So she didn’t really get her hands dirty by pushing me around. She had a wicked tongue, as I recall, and hurled quite a few insults my way. She did push me around on occasion, but Lis@ was really her henchman.

And Lis@ was a burnout.

You know what a burnout is, don’t you? A person in middle school or high school who smokes! And that same person, if she’s a girl, wears black eyeliner under her eyes and black clothes. The guy burnouts just wore black clothes and smoked. No eyeliner. That was a burnout.

Of course I told my mom about this and she said, incredulously because she couldn’t understand me, “They bumped into you and you didn’t beat the crap out of them?” Um, no. No I did not beat the crap out of them Mom. I’m a pacifist.

So it went on for a while longer and as I told my mom about it she started getting angry at me because I wasn’t fighting back. She said the only way to get through to people like that is to pound them into the ground.

Yes, that’s what she said. My mom was really animated and grew up on 24th Street in Detroit. She had a lot of fights in her early life. She grew up in a crazy family and had to literally fight her way out of Detroit. You kind of have to consider the source when you hear about the advice she gave me. Plus, all of my sisters and my brother had gone down this path before me.

My mom was used to other kids beating up on her kids and her advice was always the same: beat the other kid back with everything you have so you teach him never to touch you again. This is the motto she lived by and it served her well all those years ago in Motown.

Now the one piece she did not make clear to me was that the other kid had to initiate the fight. If the other kid touched you first that’s the clearance to go medieval on him. My mom did not make that piece clear to me and that will become important later on.

I think the abuse from those girls started in the winter and continued into the spring. My mom was getting angry at me for not defending myself against K!m and Lis@. She finally gave me an ultimatum: if you don’t fight them today you’ll have big trouble when I get home from work tonight.

You know, as I lived through that experience I didn’t really focus on what my mom said to me. My thoughts on that have always been about K!m and Lis@. But when I write that out in black and white it seems kinda crazy.

My mother threatened to beat me if I didn’t beat up the girl at school. At least that’s how I interpreted that. I was more afraid of my mother’s wrath than I was of fighting the girl at school.

I think it was May of 1982 when The Fight finally took place. My sisters were home so they were excited because they knew to expect a call from the principal that day.

My mother reminded me that morning, before I left for the bus stop, that it was okay that I was going to get in trouble at school. She knew the principal would call her at work and she was totally fine with that. She told me she would be expecting that call today. My mom curled her lip and said, “Just beat her with everything you’ve got.” She then shook her fist in front of me to emphasize her point.

As I walked to the bus stop I felt the knot form in my stomach.

I did procrastinate in the morning as I really didn’t want to get in a fight. But I quickly realized I was going to have to fight K!m at lunch time because that would be my first opportunity to see her. I remember sitting at the round lunch table telling my friend Karen, “I am going to beat up K!m Sh@rp right now, I’ll see you later.”

I slowly walked toward K!m’s table as my heart started pounding crazily. There was no turning back, I realized, as I weaved my way through the tables. When I got to K!m’s table, she was holding a sandwich and her head was turned away from me because she was talking to someone else.

I politely tapped her on the shoulder and when she turned to look at me I punched her in the face. I do remember seeing her Wonder Bread sandwich take flight in the air.

Of course she stood up and thus began The Fight. I kept punching and aiming for her face, I don’t really remember what she did to me. I do recall the lunch ladies trying to pull us apart and I actually thought to myself, ‘It’s gonna take more than a lunch lady to pull me off of K!m.’ And that turned out to be true. It took a male teacher to pull me off of her. And I was secretly proud that it took a man to pry me off of her.

Soon after the fight was over I learned the particular technique I employed is commonly referred to as a “Sucker Punch” and is not highly regarded in some circles. When it was all done, I had a swollen lip and K!m had a bloody nose. She was talkin’ smack to me on the way to the principal’s office and I remember telling her, “I’m not the one bleeding.”

Anyway, in the Principal’s office we had to tell him what happened. K!m was all self-righteous telling him she was just eating her lunch when I came up out of nowhere and punched her in the face. Her attitude was such that she was sure I would deny starting the fight.

So she told her side as I patiently waited my turn. Then the principal turned to me and said, “What happened?”

“I walked up to her at lunch, tapped her on the shoulder and punched her in the face.”

So of course he wanted to know why I did it.

I told him the truth, “My mom told me to.”

He sat in his chair stunned. Then he said, “I can’t believe your mother told you to start a fight.”

I said, “Call her. She told me I had to fight K!m S. today.”

As you can see, back then I wasn’t quite the storyteller I am today. I am quite certain I did not give him the back story of how K!m had been spearheading a bullying campaign against me for the past four months in gym class.

It was my mother who explained the circumstances that led up to The Fight. She told me later that the principal apologized over and over but said he had to suspend me because I had started the fight. My mom was totally down with that and reassured him that it was quite alright. She looked at it as a well-earned vacation from school.

Since she couldn’t leave work to pick me up, my mom sent my sisters to get me. When they got to school they were really excited to hear all the details of the fight. They were shocked, as well, that I just walked up to her and started pounding away.

Later, my mother clarified that it should be the other person who pushes or shoves first. The other person has to initiate contact then it’s a fighting free-for-all. And she gave an example: “Remember when you were in gym class and they shoved you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s when you should have started the fight. Because they pushed you first.“

So I filed that information away for future reference.

It was split among the school as to who actually won The Fight. I will say I had the majority vote as the winner and I did earn the respect of some kids at school. But K!m lobbied and won a few outlying precincts.

Most importantly, she and her henchman Lis@ never touched me again.

Now, tell me about your most memorable fight. Why did it happen and how did it come to blows? Did you win? It really doesn’t matter if you won or not. I’m just curious.

Photo @ illuminati-news.com

The other day I was talking with a friend who commented on how the use of the Internet has made people so impersonal that it’s taking the place of human interaction.

She said that “people are missing out on real pivotal moments in life because they are too plugged in, always stuck in front of the computer.”

After I got off the phone, I called at least 3 people to say hi, not that I don’t call them anyway, but I’m technology dependent, and sending an email hello is “normal”, preferred really.

Instead of picking up the phone to emotionally connect with someone and listening to their voice, phone calls have been replaced by text messaging, emails or tweets.  Technology has made it so that we don’t have to deal with humans if we don’t want to.

A few weeks ago, we had dinner with an elderly family friend, she has to be at least 89 years old, visiting from Virginia.

She passed out her calling card printed with her name, address and phone number on it.  After examining the card for a few seconds and looking on the back side, I said: “Where’s your email address, how am I supposed to contact you?”  She said, “Use the phone number.” ¹  Sometimes a phone call is better because we get to hear emotions and true feelings that we would not get in an email or text message.

I love the Internet, its usefulness, its convenience but life is not the sum of conveniences. In fact, it would probably be less convenient, but it might also be more meaningful, especially when we examine the social and psychological dislocations that it’s caused. ²

How do you stay “human” when technology makes it so easy for us to be emotionally detached.  Does time spent online outweigh the time spent interacting with family and friends?  Has technology affected our thinking and way of life that it is fast becoming, not our servant, but our master?

Additional Reading:
Against the Machine: Being Human in the Age of the Electronic Mob

1.   I hate the phone
2. social isolation