I learned about it on Facebook, a particularly cold way to discover a distant friend was just put on life support. I followed up as best I could, texting those closest to him and emailing anyone else who might know something. I didn’t call because, well, it’s 2019. Who talks by choice on the phone these days? Even if we want to speak to someone, the odds are low anyone picks up in this age of telemarketing harassment.
I grew up at the tail end of the Happy Days era; the Joanie Loves Chachi era, to be exact. I follow Twitter only to see the commentary on the President’s tweets. I Snapchat with no one, my Tumblr last tumbled during the second Bush administration, and my Instagram account might as well have tumbleweeds as my profile picture. I’m just old now, I guess (hence my use of Facebook, the Western Union of social media for anyone over forty).