Ah, the new millenium. Technology is running at fever pitch, and it's damn near impossible to keep up. Digital cable is here, robotic dogs are licking their robotic what nots, and electronic maps are in our cars. (I'll be damned if I have one of those, I know exactly where I'm going) We have star 69, (stalk 69}, star 66 for the type A's, and we have voice mail.

Screw all that, I want an answering machine. A really old one. One that is as big as a VCR, (remember VCR's?) and takes two minutes to get to the beep. One that chews tape like potato chips, and loses important calls from my friends at the colllection agency. Dammit, I want one. Off I go.

I've found that the answering machine farm has trimmed down a bit, due to the advent of voice mail, so I pick one that is inexpensive but functional, attractive but merely plastic, and roughly nineteen dollars. I felt like a miser at the check out of Sam's club, everyone else had twelve boxes of cereal in one, 5 gallon cans of coffee, (go speed racer, go!) and a lawn mower. I'll tell you all about that next issue. I had an answering machine. Get me the hell outta here.

There is something about the purchase of electronic appliances that really excites me. I feel as if I'm part of generation next, fuel for the new millenium, and a man of means. Hell, I just spent nineteen dollars! I carefully tuck my owners manual in a safe place, (the shiny blue recycling bin) I fill out the warranty card with intent of putting a stamp on it, but I'm guessing that it will find its way into the shiny blue recycling bin when I clean out my room in a couple of years, and I prepare for the hardest part of all. Leaving the voice greeting.

Your voice greeting really says a lot. It defines you. It shows who you are as a person, sometimes it shows what you do, and sometimes it proves what a complete idiot you really are.

I must be careful, I want to get all the right elements in a twenty second time frame, a little about my roomates and myself, other means of reaching us, and a dash of funny. I want callers to feel great about not being able to get in touch with me. Nothing annoys me more than hammerheads who jump into character and leave two minutes of their favorite impressions, trying to fill a void that only a mentally challenged partner or a blow up doll could fill.

I refuse to do this. I will say all the right things in all the right places, and when the beep hits, the caller will be holding the baton high in victory as they cross the finish line. A joyous time for all. A time to celebrate. This is exciting. Today is Friday.

It’s Monday now, I’ve destroyed the answering machine, I’m unable to live up to my expectations. It has a new home in the dump, and I’ve signed up for a wonderful new technological advancement called voice mail. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.