Everyone else in my social circle does it, including my esteemed editor, Jeff Gauger. He even boldly admits to being hooked on Wordle.
I am not. I remain the nerdish outsider. Lofty, remote, only sometimes incompetent.
I admit I’m a computer dimwit. I also don’t know the various countries named “_stan” and could not find them on a map. Without the internet, I’m not sure I could find a map.
But when I do learn to do something – naturally, I grow obsessive. Before my Facebook addiction, I was hooked on AOL chat rooms. A short dive into Google still sends me on a five-hour quest, at the end of which I still haven’t found what I was looking for. (And what song does that line come from? Sing it into Google.)
I also fume about deciphering directions. Everything sounds like “Extirpate the quintillaboggle, but do not frizzle the sauropsida.”
I’ve successfully resisted Twitter, Instragram and TikTok. I can resist the siren song of Wordle. I’m not even going to look up whether it rhymes with chortle. I’m really not. …
