I blame our part-time nanny, and the twenty-somethings with whom I work, for getting me started with the whole texting thing. It’s not like I wasn’t plugged in enough as it was, what with gmail, instant-messaging, Facebook, and this blog, for example. I made it nearly forty years on this planet without caving to the allure of the text message.
But now I’m one of them.
I’m somewhat comforted to know that texting really isn’t just for teeny-boppers anymore. (Do people still use that term?) The other day, I was enjoying some free outdoor jazz in Boulder with the boys, when I noticed something that kind of took me out of the moment.
The stand up bass player was thumping his way through his solo, the drum player dutifully keeping time with only a nod of his fedorra-ed head. The slightly graying piano player had his eyes closed, his hands tapping on his thighs as he sat on his rickity piano bench. He was apparently appreciating the groove that the bassist was laying down, when I saw his left leg straighten out slightly. It was a move I recognized from those rare moments when my grandfather, the Colonel, would accompany my grandmother and me to church when I was a little girl. We could always tell that he had had enough when he would stretch out his left leg, and lean back slightly to put his hand in his pocket to get a Rolaids. Only on this occasion the piano player retrieved not an antacid, but a cell phone from his pants pocket.
And then, while his jazz trio was still performing, with all of us watching, he flipped open his phone and started texting. It seemed a little rude, or, at the very least, a little post-modern. Perhaps ironic? Luckily he wrapped up his important texting just in time to jump back into the music, but it did make me wonder if maybe there shouldn’t be times when multi-tasking isn’t appropriate.
Or is it just me?
image from: http://www.flickr.com/photos/moriza/126238642/
eleven bee 