Rusty Saber: Life without e-mail? Say it isn't so, Joe

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To most folks, I'm a lost cause a permanently out-to-lunch nerd hopelessly mired in the 20th century. It's probably true. Why, I don't even have an e-mail address. |ret||ret||tab|

I'll pause while you gasp in disbelief. |ret||ret||tab|

Doubtless, it's hard to face the absurd truth that a normal, or almost normal, human being could possibly live and breathe without e-mail. However, I don't have to go through life completely devoid of e-mail; my wife has an address.|ret||ret||tab|

Based on my extremely sparse association with her e-mail, most messages are unwanted advertisements. Well, my mailbox is already stuffed with enough unwanted ads to choke two landfills, and between sunup and three hours past sundown, tele-marketers stand in line to call to offer stuff I don't want. Why should I add to the cacophony via computer? |ret||ret||tab|

Now, I'm not on an anti-e-mail crusade; I receive messages from readers via SBJ's e-mail. I just don't need an address.|ret||ret||tab|

My backwardness doesn't stop with e-mail. I'm so behind the times that I still play phonograph records on my stereo. That's right, like barbarians from the distant past, I put records on the turntable, drop the needle gently and soak up the sounds on what were once state-of-the-art speakers. It sounds primordial, but I do it. |ret||ret||tab|

Before you put me so far back in the Dark Ages that sunshine would have to be flown in to me by a NASA rocket, I do own some CDs. My car has both CD and cassette players, and I can play both in the house.|ret||ret||tab|

Alas, when I am at home listening to my kind of music, jazz, I prefer my record collection, gained over most of my adult life, which spans a lot of years.|ret||ret||tab|

Some of my fellow jazz enthusiasts have transferred their records to tape. I have a decent collection of cassette tapes, but I still prefer the old-fashioned 33-1/3-rpm records. |ret||ret||tab|

Cassettes, or the more modern CDs, are more convenient; I know that. It's like some drivers prefer their cars to have manual five-speed transmissions rather than the more "convenient" automatic transmissions. They want the feel of being in control of their cars, not the other way around. |ret||ret||tab|

This predilection I understand. I became a sports-car fanatic at about the same time I discovered jazz. I have owned a variety of sports cars over the years. Today, however, rather than a sports car, I have a sedan with automatic everything. But I drool at the sight of a sports car. You can take the man out of the sports car, but you can't take the sports car out of the man. |ret||ret||tab|

The same philosophy applies to this jazz purist. My jazz record collection is very large and dates back to a time so long ago that Bill Clinton had not yet discovered girls. The early albums were gathered when I was in the Navy. Storage space and record players were in short supply. |ret||ret||tab|

My wife likes to tell the story about when we first began dating after my Navy discharge, I had a marvelous record collection; however, I had no hi-fi (that's what they were called then). Ironically, she had a new hi-fi, but practically no record albums. As she says, this, plus our shared hatred of cucumbers, proved that we were made for each other. You know what? She was right!|ret||ret||tab|

CDs may have made record albums obsolete, but I prefer my records. It's a kick to take a record out of its jacket, gently cleaning and slipping it on the turntable; its a feeling much like shifting through the gears of a Porsche. I take pride when my records that may be more than 40 years old sound as clear and mellow as when they were new. A bunch of CDs will never replace my records.|ret||ret||tab|

Once, shortly after my wife and I were married, we heard on the radio that a tornado had been sighted. The announcer said, "Take cover!" We lived in a duplex with an unfinished basement. My wife carried to the basement what few valuables a young college couple possessed. |ret||ret||tab|

You know what I took to the basement my jazz records. What else? Thankfully, the tornado passed over. But had it hit, the collection would have been saved.|ret||ret||tab|

Tell me I'm lost in a time warp. Tell me what a backward clod I am; but you can't tell me by e-mail. I couldn't read it anyway. I'm listening to my records.|ret||ret||tab|

|bold_on|(Joe McAdoo is former chairman of the communication department at Drury University and a Springfield public relations consultant.)|ret||ret||tab|

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