So Tonight I’m Gonna Call You Like It’s 1999

I hail from Generation Oregon Trail, born in the twilight of Gen X and the (mis)begetting of Millennials.

Listen, my generation has been through it.

I am old enough to have in my archive:

• a printed-out IM conversation, the meaning of which was poignant in 1998 but now less decipherable than ancient Minoan hieroglyphs

• a flip phone that my children pretend is a phaser/ray gun

• a CD mix burned by a guy whose choices imply his crush was probably Mariah Carey not me

• not-floppy floppy disks, likely still infected with viruses more potent than the ones emerging from the thawing Siberian permafrost

I have mastered several software programs which are no longer supported, and I have learned to use sophisticated devices that are now the subject of scorn.

So you see, it is not that I'm an unduly nostalgic troglodyte - I am just very tired. The next thing might be better, but I am not very interested.

I really hate constantly relearning how to be a functional adult.

So here I am, hoping to salvage a modicum of sanity by declaring for a past practice that worked for me:

cold calling

Question: Why bother with this announcement?

Answer: Liability. The last time I called a Gen Z friend unannounced, she answered the phone, "Oh no! Are you dead?"

I can't be responsible for causing that level of panic.

So if your phone says it's me calling, please know that it's not an emergency, and you are free to ignore the call if it's a bad time.

And don't worry - I will not leave you a voicemail (probably). The only message is that I like you and would love to chat.