I Feel Bad About My Neck

by Nora Ephron

Only yesterday, while surfing the net, I discovered that there’s an expression for what I am—a mouse potato. It means someone who’s as connected to her computer as couch potatoes are to their television sets.

“I am led to the proposition that there is no fiction or nonfiction as we commonly understand the distinction; there is only narrative.”

We are a generation that has learned to believe we can do something about almost everything. We are active—hell, we are proactive. We are positive thinkers. We have the power. We will take any suggestion seriously. If a pill will help, we will take it. If being in the Zone will help, we will enter the Zone. When we hear about the latest ludicrously expensive face cream that is alleged to turn back the clock, we will go out and buy it even though we know that the last five face creams we fell for were completely ineffectual. We will do crossword puzzles to ward off Alzheimer’s and eat six almonds a day to ward off cancer; we will scan ourselves to find whatever can be nipped in the bud. We are in control. Behind the wheel. On the cutting edge. We make lists. We seek out the options. We surf the net. But there are some things that are absolutely, definitively, entirely uncontrollable.