The Last Word: Cut ‘em off at the past
How do these people find me?
I went to my mailbox a couple days ago and thought I just stepped out of the “Wayback” machine with Sherman and his dog, Mr. Peabody.
“Sherman, my boy, the year is 1989,” our brainy canine tells his ‘60s cartoon friend. “It’s the era of big hair bands and CD clubs.”
“You mean like compact disc clubs, Mr. Peabody?”
“That’s exactly what I mean, Sherman. Why look, the monthly recommended selection for October is ‘Dr. Feelgood’ by Motley Crue.”
Talk about a flashback! BMG Music Service has invited me to have 12 CDs for the price of 1. Thanks, but that is so ‘80s, guys.
Did anybody out there realize these CD clubs were still around? I admit that I once subscribed to the BMG service about a hundred years ago. I’ve moved five times since I “retired” from the club, yet they still found me.
I think I know why they’re inviting me to enjoy the latest CD releases from Eminem and Bon Jovi. I don’t use an iPod, have never downloaded a track from Tune Genie and never illegally ripped off a free tune from Napster. Somehow, BMG has concluded that I am resisting new music download technology and will gladly pay $18 for a Dixie Chicks CD. They try to seduce my dinosaur mentality by offering me 12 CDs for the price of 1. “No further commitments, no pressure, no hassle.”
I guess before I sign up, I’d better take a quick ride to Best Buy and see if they even sell CD players anymore. While I’m there, I think I’ll check to see if I can get the latest Cowsills album on 8-track tape.
Truth is, I’m not a technophobe. I enjoy computers and the Internet, but I must admit I’m feeling a bit self-conscious of late. While everyone walks briskly along Elm Street in Manchester carrying iPods strapped around their arms with Velcro, I’m cruising the strip with a yellow AM/FM Walkman radio, complete with big sponge headphones. I stick out like the kid in high school who wore plastic pocket protectors. Everyone else has those new ear bud headsets. You know, the ones that hasten deafness?
Embarrassment doesn’t end there. Every time I need to make a cell phone call in public, I find a dark corner and discreetly park myself next to the other person there, usually a nursing mother. While she feeds her baby, I make a call on a cell phone that is over four years old. It is not a fancy flip phone that takes pictures. It simply makes calls. No text messaging, no ESPN football score updates. My trusty Kyocera phone gets it done.
I don’t own “Halo 3,” and I don’t own a GPS for my car. As a result, I can feel people pointing and snickering. My technology is 2003. My music is 1989.
Shall we listen to “Girls, Girls, Girls” from your new Motley Crue CD, Mr. Peabody?
You can hear Mike Morin weekdays from 5 to 10 a.m. on “New Hampshire in the Morning” on 95.7 WZID-FM. Contact him at Heymikey@aol.com.