By CLAY MERCER

Not long ago, Diane Couch asked me if I would look at her computer and see why it wasn’t behaving properly. This should immediately alert you to a couple of unalterable circumstances.

To begin with, obviously, Diane Couch is a lady of the “old school.” Had she not been, her computer would have been “broken” or “torn up” or “on the blink.”

Ladies of the “old school,” such as Diane, when referring to malfunctioning machinery, say that it “isn’t behaving properly” or that “something is the matter with it.” I began to suspect that the source of the computer’s misbehavior could be anything from a lightning strike to a cup of coffee.

Secondly, Diane must have been in dire straits indeed because my computer repair skills are limited to rebooting, disconnecting and reconnecting all the wires, and obliterating the hard drive.

In my defense, I’ve only obliterated a hard drive once, and that was a long time ago, but frankly, I suspect that neither Leon Slappey nor Dwayne Orrick ever forgave me for that.

I still don’t have a clue what was wrong with her computer. Every time it started, an error message would pop up, remain on screen for a nanosecond, and then close. Then the computer would shut down. Which is what you get when people with ADD and ADHD start programming computers.

I’m not sure when technology overran me so badly. I used to think I was on the cutting edge of technology but one day I dropped my cell phone in the toilet and by the time I got that fixed, I was so far behind I may never catch up.

Cell phones, iPods, DVD players, plasma this and hi-def that and suddenly I’ve turned into my grandfather. His approach to technology was similar to his approach to the weather. He couldn’t control it, so he just let it do whatever it was going to do. If the things worked out to his benefit, fine and dandy, if not, then too bad.

My grandfather claimed to have lived from the horse and buggy days to the age of space flight. That wasn’t exactly historically correct, because the railroads were running when he was born, but I never disputed his claim that he could vividly remember the first automobile he ever saw. He used to urge me to look forward to the wondrous inventions that were sure to come during my lifetime. Of course, that was in the late seventies when we were still expecting flying cars by the year 2000.

I don’t doubt that the kids will be ready for the flying cars when they get here, though. Last summer Connie and I were in north Georgia and got caught in the bumper to bumper traffic in Helen. Coming down the street was a kid, a teenager, riding a skateboard. He was slaloming down the street, weaving from the sidewalk to the street, in and out of traffic. When he got close enough, we could see that he was listening to an ipod in one ear, talking on a cell phone thingy in his other ear, and playing a hand held video game, all while skateboarding down the street. Predictably, Connie saw a kid taking ridiculous chances.

What I saw was a future fighter pilot.