Old Men

They had a story on the radio today, a story about the web and about people who carve their own spaces in it, about social networks.

The muscles in my hand are sore from this keyboard, or at least that's what my family thinks. My wife tells me to come to bed earlier. My son comes in and turns out the light — It's time, Dad, he says, flipping the switch on the wall and leaving the study in darkness. My mother, come down from the north to visit, tells me to go to bed from the futon where she sleeps.

They had a story about people who carve out their own spaces on the web. And I paid attention.

Social networks and MySpace. Hipsters. Teenagers. Kool kids. One of them said something like, "Old men started sending me messages, like 30 year old guys."

Old men. Sheesh. Pass me down my walking cane.

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