Ben really does not understand computers.
That's okay. Despite the time I spend in front of them at work and at home, I really don't either.
Yes, Ben is quite mystified by the little white box that talks and sings and makes me laugh. But most of all, he is perpetually dismayed by Computer Time. It is, after all, a major obstacle to all that Ben holds near and dear in life -- walks, neck scratches and a regular, predictable schedule of Milk Bone disbursements.
Earlier this winter, I relocated my computer operations to the dining room table downstairs. Just till the computer room warms up a little. At first, I think Ben approved. We were, after all, closer to the back door and his leash.
But, alas, he has learned over time that this new and improved proximity to the Great Outdoors no way changes Computer Time. I still sit, check e-mail, Facebook, Twitter (a new little project), Project 365, pound out new blogs and read and re-read my favorites.
But what the relocation has done is give Ben a more expansive stage for signaling his dismay and disapproval about Computer Time.
This is what computer time looked like yesterday:
|You're really NOT going sit down at the computer, are you?|
|GOOD GRIEF. You are.|
|Hellooooo? Attempting to look pensive and regal here.|
|Did you know computers can give you cancer?|
|Don't take this personally, but I think you'd benefit from a little more exercise.|
|Me: Ben, why are you licking the table?|
Ben: Umm. Let me see. . . Soup Night. Monday. Sept. 15. 2008.
It was a very good year.
|Gee, it looks really nice outside right now. Repeat. Nice? O-U-T-S-I-D-E?|
|OK. FINE. I'm going to have a drink. It's 5 o'clock somewhere.|
|You know where to find me -- sigh -- first rug on the left on The Boulevard of Broken Dreams|