Embracing
Technology
All
of
you
young
whippersnappers
should
see
that,
though
old,
I
embrace
technology,
like
scissors,
snipping
off
the
scarlet
top
of
a
box
of
pills
I’m
about
to
pop,
their
thin
graceful
legs,
ballerina-‐like,
scissoring
through
the
plastic,
exactly
right,
or
the
telephone,
mine
still
on
both
wall
and
desk,
a
choice
of
two
from
which
to
call,
instead
of
wireless
toys
carried
around
so
you
can
bother
me
by
talking
loud,
or
the
radio,
still
a
magic
box,
emitting
music
or
the
human
vox,
in
ways,
God
knows,
mysterious
to
me,
with
or
without
electricity,
such
a
wonder,
so
new,
that
Thurber’s
mom
always
kept
the
wires
plugged
in,
always
“on,”
to
keep
the
current
from
dribbling
away,
a
common
superstition,
in
her
day,
or,
going
back
to
the
first
inventions,
trying
to
think
up
the
word
for
“bison,”
our
frightened
forebears
huddled
round
the
fire,
safe
from
mammoth
or
saber-‐tooth
ti