The thought that a CD could refer to finance or music rarely enters your mind.
You are able to argue persuasively the Ross Perot’s phrase “electronic town hall” makes more sense than the term “information superhighway,” but you don’t because, after all, the man still uses hand-drawn pie charts.
You go to computer trade shows and map out your path of the exhibit hall in advance. But you cannot give someone directions to your house without looking up the street names.
You would rather get more dots per inch than miles per gallon.
You become upset when a person calls you on the phone to sell you something, but you think it’s okay for a computer to call and demand that you start pushing buttons on your telephone to receive more information about the product it is selling.
You know without a doubt that disks come in five-and-a-quarter and three-and-a-half-inch sizes.
Al Gore strikes you as an “intriguing” fellow.
You own a set of itty-bitty screw-drivers and you actually know where they are.
While contemporaries swap stories about their recent hernia surgeries, you compare mouse-induced index-finger strain with a nine-year-old.