George Jetson meets Wilma Flinstone.

What an embarrassment I must be to my husband. From a technology standpoint, he's George Jetson, I'm Wilma Flinstone. Let me explain.

BJ has been savvy since I've known him. But as technology advances, get this, so does he! My husband is the guy sitting in the coffee shop with a laptop (oh my gosh, I don't think they are even called laptops anymore!) in front of him, who appears to be talking to himself, but after taking a closer look, he has some kind of communication device in his ear and other various multifunctional devices in front of him at the table. He's always connected, always working, always online. Email, gps, calendar, all a click away, or a touch away on his Iphone. The guy was working at a company with 'blog' in the name before I even knew what a blog was.

As for me, I'm very 'old school'. Age 28, college graduate, former high school teacher for five years; one might think I would have some blogging experience, or at least knowledge. Oh, who am I fooling, it's not just blogging that I'm a little slow with. You could pretty much categorize it as technology altogether. If this doesn't give you enough insight, let me also express that as recently as last year I was teaching 'photojournalism' with 35mm manual cameras, black and white film and a darkroom. No, that's not a joke.

My level of technological understanding rests comfortably somewhere in the middle of the 1980's. I can proudly type nearly 70 words a minute. I can address an envelope like a pro, and know the current cost of a postage stamp (42 cents). I am quite comfortable with email, and thought I was perfectly fine until people started talking facebook, myspace, blogging, ipods, iphones, ibooks, ihavenoideawhatyouaretalkingaboutpeople.

So, my George comes home every once in awhile with a new gadget for his Wilma to try out. The first thing he got me was a cell phone with a querty keyboard, which I used to send my first text message. That was, oh, about two years ago. Next he gave me his 'old' ipod. This tiny little clip of a thing plays more songs than I would ever listen to at one time. I still don't really understand how to put songs on it. I know it is George's greatest desire for me to just get it already, but there is a big chunk of my brain that is missing, I guess, because none of it makes sense to me.

So, George brings home an iphone for me last month. Holy technology at your fingertips! As amazing as it all is to me, and as fun as it is to get email to my phone, I'm a little freaked out that I am a little blue dot on the screen and when I go to the bathroom, the dot moves. I'm truly convinced that we are nowhere near as 'alone' as we sometimes think we are. So anyway, George asks me if I've synced it up lately? What language of the future are you speaking to me? Dumb it down, Jetson!

Am I proud of this lack of withitness? Not really, but I'm not really ashamed of it either. Because I don't really like it. We don't even talk to each other anymore. We text. We don't have to figure it out 'old school' anymore. We google it. We're lazy. We're privileged, spoiled, linked in, connected, and a little less real, in my perspective.