I just realized I’m easily accessible.  (No, that’s not what I meant, you perverts.)   I meant I have FIVE e-mail accounts I have to check every day.   Plus, there’s three different voicemails that need tending.  And don’t even get me started on Facebook … that’s requires more effort than both of my part-time jobs put together.

Back in the day … when you called someone and they weren’t home, you’d hang up and call back later.  Now impatience sets in.  At work, for instance, if I can’t find someone I can use the intercom to hunt them down like caribou.   If that doesn’t work I’ll text their Blackberry, call their cell phone or their work phone, IM them or send them an “urgent” e-mail.  (You know … the one with the imposing red flag attached to it.)

I almost always have my cell phone attached at my hip, which means you can usually get a hold of me on an as needed basis.  It is unfortunate that my parents discovered this nifty little trick.  I call my parents like clockwork every Saturday morning.  If I don’t call, my phone starts blowing up.  My mom immediately fears the worst.   “Oh … when you didn’t call I figured you were probably dead in a ditch, or worse.”  (Or worse?  What does she mean by that?  Attacked by wolverines?)

Up until a year ago, I had never sent a text in my life.  Oh sure, my friends would text me, but I’d never respond.  I thought texting was tacky and classless.   If I wanted to talk to them, I’d call them.  Slowly they wore me down and now I find myself with carpal tunnel of the thumbs.  That’s probably because I refuse to use stupid acronyms like “LOL” or “BRB”.  I spell everything out (and then double-check the spelling).  I am a writer, for Chrissake.

Wanna reach out to me?  Feel free.  You have 96 different avenues to do so.  Heck, you’re one click away from sending me an e-mail via MichaelMackie.com.  I’ll respond ASAP.

I mean, as soon as possible.

Crap.