I don’t like virtual meetings. So stop asking me to join one or telling me how wonderful it is.
I don’t want to be dressed in a green St. Patrick’s day hat and sweater looking at extended family eating corn beef and cabbage up close. Should I tell Aunt Margaret, she has cabbage in her tooth? What about cousin Phil whose mouth is so close to the camera, I can smell his virtual bad breath. And would someone please pass Uncle Ted a virtual napkin- he’s drooling on my screen.
In fairness, I don’t like seeing myself in the corner of the screen. I don’t like the choppy interruptions of 10 people trying to talk. I don’t like how close your face is next to mine on the screen. Makes me wish their was virtual social distancing.
It’s hard to stay engaged virtually. I focus on the family photos behind you; try to figure out if you are in an apartment or house; notice your finished basement and wonder if we should do the same. But I’m not a fan of the dark wooden bookshelf behind you. Time for an upgrade-sorry.
Even on tv, everyone who looks so cool and together in studio, appears inept from home. Last night, I struggled to listen to audio that scraped and scratched as the experienced politician talked to his laptop. And the NYT reporter whose glasses fogged up with each word she spoke. And while David Gergen looked sharp under appropriate lighting, it appeared his laptop camera was looking up at him rather than across from him.
If these difficult times have taught me anything, it’s that I miss my landline telephone.