A Googling Uber Roofer

Okay, today, more adventures of the inimitable Ranger Buddy.

There was a news article yesterday about a modern nomadic STONE AGE tribe from Colombia, Nukak-Maku, which had wandered out from the jungles to join the 21st century. Click HERE for full article. One of the interesting parts about the article talked about how these people were asking about the airplanes, and how they worked; they thought they were moving on "invisible" roads. To the stone age mind, that makes perfect sense when explaining technology.

Now, onto Ranger Buddy, my STONE AGE business partner. As you know, he has given up television for the year as his new year's resolution, so he has plenty of time on his hands at night. Ranger Buddy, welcome to the dark side. The man has learned how to google.

Let me back up a bit.

This is the man who still owned a 30 year old television set about six years ago that REQUIRED one to walk to the set to change channels. The fun question the family members await when there is a new guest to the house: "Where is the remote?"

This is the man who was given a solar powered radio to listen to the Braves game and spent his nights cranking that thing (since there is no daylight at night) up instead of just buying another radio that uses electricity. "Fifty-five cranks will go a whole inning," he proudly told me.

This is the man who doesn't own a cell phone and never will, who still can't figure out how to use one sometimes, and who gives sermons on the evils of cell phone and the downfall of mankind due to the "inability to get things done because it's easier to call somebody on the damn fucking things." I call them sermons on the roof, which I should sell for $19.99 on e-bay or something. Very entertaining, especially The Sermon of The Flopping Frog of Evolution theory but that's another story.

This is the man who once punched his phone number onto his microwave oven while reheating his coffee. THAT was one cooked coffee bean.

But this year, THIS YEAR, the Caveman has emerged from the woods. RB has learned how to put on earbuds (albeit it was the wrong way for a couple of weeks) to listen to his Spanish lessons on his MP3. MP3. You understand...this is the dude who wouldn't know any other acronym but an AK-47. He's talking about his MP3.

Then, yesterday, when I showed him this article, he oh-so-casually said he already read that on the Internet.

I raised my eyebrows. "Internet?" Ahem. This is the dude who destroyed his daughter's first computer by just TURNING IT ON and had to buy her a replacement, and had, to my knowledge, never dared to turn on another computer by himself.

"Yeah. While listening to the Braves game. I get to read the box scores live."

My jaw dropped. "Whoa...you don't use your radio any more?"

He sniffed. "The reception is getting really bad at night. Anyway, since I'm on the net, I click on news...."

And this is how he demonstrated the whole procedure, with sound effects and exaggerated arm motions like some mad conductor:

"I turned it on--ding-ding--and the screen comes on really quickly. Then I (swishing his right hand for effect) get the mouse to SPRINT and click. Beep-beep, bap-bap, and there, I am on the MLB site and I get to choose what game to watch, beep-beep, bap-bap. Sometimes the mouse gets stuck and I get to coax the mouse, boop-boop (demonstrating the art of coaxing a mouse with two very dirty, very tarred, very work-scarred hands), all over the screen to get to the right spot. When the game is over, I coax the mouse again to the top and click-click (DOUBLECLICKING not in his puter-vocab yet) on news. Sometimes I even get to type, but very slowly, but I can type BRAVES from memory now (he demonstrated his one finger motions on the imaginary keyboard on the table at Shit and Grits), bap-bap-bap bap-bap-bap, just like that. Afterwards, I go to the top and click-click on Google. And then I click-click on the links (LINKS, he is TALKING ABOUT LINKS), zap-zap, (more karate-like arm movements) and there's the news. I'm all googlified-certified."

Needless to say, I almost killed myself trying to eat and laugh at the same time. Beep-beep-boop indeed. Googlified-certified. Where is my caveman?!

By the way, he proudly announces that he can hold a great conversation with an eighteen-month old Spanish baby now. Which would be great if we were trying to get the crapenters to go poopoo and napnap, I guess.

So...from the Stone Age to the Email Age. It hasn't happened yet. But if it does, I'll be sure to set him up with an email addy of caveman@stoneage.com . Bleep-bleep, bloop-bloop, you got mail....

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