Ben Beagle

The aging, semi-hysterical retired reporter rides shotgun with the greatest station wagon driver of them all down the rocky road of life. Mondays and Wednesdays, steady as she goes.

Recent columns

• Holidays, politics a bad combination for Bennie
• Bennie's sending holiday regrets to dear old Aunt Z
• I'll find something else to do during Palin's talk
• He's sick of trying to keep up with national health debate

Well, here is Old No. 36 again in a clash with technology.

Let's just say drowning in technology. I'm sorry. I wish technology had never been invented. I wish I'd been around when they invented fire -- not to mention the wheel.

Which is to say that we have one of those wireless phones that you can't hear anything on anymore.

I think they invent these things so that the time will come when you can't hear anything -- including your Aunt Zelda's request to spread her mulch for the winter. Or to come over for some pecan pie the first chance you get.

And you'll have to buy another one you can't understand until your son explains it to you.

And installs it.

My beef with technology

Actually, we have two wireless phones. One of the dead ones is taking up too much room in my desk drawer. We couldn't hear on that one either.

I can't explain it, but there's something deep in your heart that makes you unable to throw a dying wireless phone into the trash or give it a decent burial beside your favorite cat in the back yard.

At least you could understand your cat -- without having to charge it for 16 hours before it would be able to meow.

And then, of course, there's the personal computer that picks up viruses like your first-grade child does.

And you never know when this is happening, like when you get online to look up the Alamo or Bell's palsy. Or Calamity Jane.

And there's this virus in there that will steal your soul, sell your dog to Michael Vick and kidnap your children unless you buy this virus slayer outfit.

This costs about sixty bucks, which would almost buy a week's groceries if you bought a whole lot of bologna.

This is after you pay $159.95 for these experts to clean up your computer and lose all your medical records and a number of literary efforts that might have meant the Pulitzer down the road.

The way things were

Don't get me wrong, Jack. I'm not one of those aging people who think everything was better in 1942.

I just recall that we had these phones that were heavy enough to beat a home invader to death.

We had no idea of how they worked, but if you had been a strong, callow, somewhat overweight youth, you could pick up the phone and give this nice lady the number you wanted to call.

And then your beloved's mother -- who always asked if you had a job -- would answer the phone.

I sure miss 2641.

Ben Beagle's column runs in Monday's Extra.