We Won't Let Those Robots Defeat Us

[Post-work wine and Greekified noshes (and very much in that order) at Ziryab on Divisadero last night with my new BFF, La Liaison (not to be confused with an old San Francisco peripheral person whom some called "The Liaison") and three of her 20something friends. Ah, the 20somethings. Some call them Generation Y, others Narcissisitic Praise Junkies. Not counting the former roommate in the last days in the 'Loin, my association with "them" has been slight. Now, however, I share an office with two of them, and I think I'm beginning to get it.]

[I call them Generation Text, because apart from the good manners and the constant need for reassurance, the biggest distinguishing feature I can see in this "generation" (pause for raised eyebrow at the massive implicit generalizations implied) is their cyborg-like attachment to what we geezers used to call their "cellular telephones."]

[Now you know I like to text. I'm not the first to observe that the medium gives rise to ingenious, haiku-like forms of self-expression, and I have embraced it. My new bill-opening angst, now replacing the student loan which is resolved, is my Sprint bill: I just don't want to know how many texts over my minuscule limit I've gone, and how much it cost me this month.]

[But these kids: their cells are like a third class of manipulating body part: hands, feet...phone. At dinner, every single person at the table (including me, once I remembered when in Rome) thought nothing of taking calls, sending texts, and resting the instrument in easier reach than fork, napkin, or wineglass. I remarked upon the difference between Them and Us, to patronizing smiles all around. They'd heard it before, and my observation didn't interest them.]

[It makes me wonder to what new cybernetic lengths by niece's generation will extend themselves. I read somewhere recently that computer monitors are being developed for contact lenses. When we can no longer look away, will the difference between First and Second Lives become irrelevant? How could it not?]

[Still, the important thing? They liked La Liaison's amusing, older, gay pal. Who cares if they're all becoming robots? The robots like me, they really like me!]

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