To fluff or not to fluff

Rhona Canoy

SO… A reader asked me why I only write fluff pieces, that I should be writing about serious, current topics. I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for or to make fun of the question. Mamser, this is my reply.

It is never easy for me to express myself about fluff because I can’t talk about things that don’t matter to me. Maybe I should first have asked mamser to define fluff. In a way, fate stepped in and gave me a situation which brought the question into much clearer focus.

My smartphone died a quiet, slow death. I should have had more sense and realize that it was losing massive IQ points each time I turned it on, but like most baby boomers who are unquestioning of technology, I didn’t see the obvious signs. Like most mortal flawed humans, there was a brief nanosecond of panic after which, in the natural order of things in the Rhona dimension, Yoda stepped in.

Total acceptance and submission to the fact of “The subscriber cannot be reached” sank in. No phone calls, no texts, no checking my Facebook, no emails. Nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch. The universal argument of balance needed to be asked—good or bad? The answer, of course, being neither. Confirming my life slogan: it is what it is so deal with it, bitch.

Fluff or not fluff? Death of a smartphone has caused nervous breakdowns, anger, frustration, even desperation from what I have seen. So I guess not fluff. I’m still at a loss as to how willingly people have given up their smarts to the gadget. For some, even their actual existence revolves around this piece of technology. I remember decades ago having memorized all my necessary phone digits so I could call in case of emergency without having to flip through the pages of the almost-now-obsolete phone book. So I have started memorizing important cell numbers in case I have to call or text someone. Of course this comes with the shameful act of borrowing someone else’s tech brains and using it to text or call. And now I have twelve 10-digit sequences imbedded in my biological brain in case of emergency. How many do you know? Your own number doesn’t count because… well, duh!!

Having to give up tech dependence and regaining control of my own life has been delightful. If you want to reach me, get creative and figure out how because it is (once again) my choice to reach out and touch someone. My call, my text, my email, and (most important of all) my time. Although I applaud and appreciate the massive technological advances, I do my best to be aware of not letting technology run my life. My conversations are in-your-face. So are my smiles, my handshakes, my hugs. No technology will ever do it better or get in the way of that. How many conversations have been murdered by one person rudely answering a surely-not-important text message while pretending to be paying attention? Too many to count. Too much rudeness allowed.

Where’s the fluff in that? When will people start realizing that nothing in life is fluff? There is meaning in everything, there are lessons to be learned, there is wisdom to be gained. What I choose to write about are things that can be meaningful if you choose to read it that way. I guess it’s only fluff if it’s fluff that you want. Please don’t blame me.

So I have been practicing tech celibacy for about a week now. The only thing I can tell you is how much fun I’m having pleasing myself.