One of my favorites was a timex-looking video watch, on which I could catch the latest episode of Beverly Hills Teens while kneeling in the Our Lady of Grace pew during a really long communion. (I fully accept that there’s a special place reserved for me down you-know-where.) Please tell me I didn’t imagine this cartoon series…no one seems to remember it.
Another most prescient invention of mine was a robot that could listen to the radio with you, and it would be able to tell you the name of the song that was playing. And…shazam! they read my mind. Pure magic. I didn’t even have the brain molecules at the time to conceive of the possibility that the robot would be able to then purchase said song, out of thin air, and add to my audio collection. But this is why Steve Jobs is Steve Jobs, and why I am on a couch blogging about Steve Jobs.
This is what Google Reader has done for me. Technology I could only imagine in my dreams, now part of my daily experience. All the blogs I care about, all the time. It’s quite fantastic, really. I no longer spin my wheels for the first 2 hours of my day, rummaging through my blog bookmarks, looking for something new. Thank god for the neighborhood kids like Ollie, who help old fogies like me with the new-fangled technology. These whipershnappers with their intra-weber-net. Genius.
Once you realize the wonder of Google Reader, it’s inevitable that you start to overload it beyond it’s capacity. Or more accurately, beyond YOUR capacity. There’s only so much the human brain can absorb in in one day. It takes some endurance, but I can manage to digest the 10 daily Design*Sponge posts…I’m genuinely delighted whenever Black Eiffel pops up in my browser…and I linger in eager anticipation of my physician-recommended doses of Petunia Face. So with all of my good intentions, aspirations to become more connected to the world today, I upload sites like Whitehouse.gov. Frankly, its hard to keep up with.
Here comes the guilt. 343 units of guilt. The nagging feeling that once Mr. Obama snagged the electoral victory, one of his most vehement supporters (moi) has retreated to the comfy confines of her home decor blogs, never to be heard from again. It’s not that…it’s just… okay – Seriously? Your press secretary? snahooo-hooze.
He’s like that PC guy from the Apple ads. I mean, seriously, Mr. Pres., you are like a bonafide rockstar. You need your press secretary, the very voice of your administration, to be a little more, I dunno….rockstar-ish? Here’s what I’m thinking…
LUCY. Exactly what the press briefing room needs. Tough, fearless, and recently unemployed. Not afraid to render a ninja star when a belligerent Al Jeezera reporter brandishes a shoe or two (not that they would). Oh and don’t worry about Helen Thomas, Mr. Pres., Lucy comes equipped with state-of-the-art press-snaring-thingamabobber . Frankly, Ms. Thomas just doesn’t have the necessary reflexes.
Lucy Liu in the the briefing office? That would totally help me keep up on my White House blog-reading. Just a little advice from the 30th District of California.