I neither Tweet nor Twitter, I don't know an iPod from a lily pad, I occupy no space in MySpace, my face is absent from Facebook, I am a complete rube regarding YouTube, my expertise with cell phones is at the same level as with the Rubik's Cube, and I indulge in no Instant Messaging beyond periodic verbal exchanges of "Can't hear you" with Firstwife.

However, this ignorance of modern communications does not prevent me from being disturbed about one facet of technology which scares the bejabbers out of me, because it threatens to isolate me and many of my fellow geezers from up to three of our succeeding generations.

I refer to the text messaging engaged in by younger folk, who jab at hand-held devices with thumbspeeds matching the velocity of woodpeckers, jack-hammers and the tobacco auctioneers of yore.

Mind you, I concede that, since the purpose of communications is to communicate, there is nothing intrinsically evil about the process, except when it trumps other media of human intercourse.

While it is not only possible, but quite common, for us to multi-task in such areas as walking and chewing gum, eating and burping and scratching where it itches, the texting process shuts down all other forms of communication, and either cripples or completely zaps the attention span of the textor.

Thus it was that I viewed with alarm a recent report in the New York Times that American teenagers sent and received a daily tsunami of text messages during 2008, more than doubling the volume of the prior year. Reportedly, many were routinely sending hundreds of texts every day, sometimes one every few minutes.

Even this is not a cause for concern, except that thumbing their proses at each other in such huge amounts occupies their minds to the exclusion of other thoughts. (Back to that point a bit later herein.)

In one case cited by the Times, a reporter in Lake Forest, California wrote that his 13-year-old daughter had racked up 14,520 texts in one month, including exchanges that interrupted what would otherwise have been sleep time.

Worse still, when he reported that in his column, his daughter's texting output nearly doubled in the months that followed, resulting in a precipitous drop in her school grades.

At that point, not surprisingly, her cell phone was temporarily confiscated for a cooling-off  period and not returned until a message limit had been imposed and a curfew established between  9 PM and 6 AM on weekdays.

Now, back to that multi-tasking thing: The human mind, like the most sophisticated computer, while able to operate at blinding speeds, can really focus on only one bit (or byte) of information at a time.

So when someone is keying in an outgoing text message or tuning in on an incoming one, his/her ability to deal with other matters - except for automatic processes like breathing and scratching those itches - is suspended.

Again, this is okay, unless those "other matters" are in such critical categories as operating a motor vehicle in high-speed traffic, or self-improvement opportunities like attending class,  keeping up with current events, or being even remotely aware of parental transmissions.

They are, for all other intents and purposes, both out of body and out of mind.

Aside: While it's still too early for alarm, texting might result in a thumbnal variation of the carpal tunnel syndrome (ask your doctor if it might be wrong for your kids).

Meanwhile, the most insidious thing about textual activity is that it can be practiced surreptitiously, altogether beyond the ken of teachers, preachers, progenitors and all other humanoids except the textee of the moment.

This raises sleight-of-thumb to a level surpassing the combined skills of Houdini, Merlin and Bernie Madoff.

Although innocently euphemized as "social networking," it is, in fact, an anti-social weapon of mass distraction, which can fly under the radar of even the strictest supervision.

It can also create the most formidable barrier between parents and children since the dawn of television, the invention of Game Boys and, earlier, the onset of adolescence in the Garden of Eden.

With heartfelt sympathy for those harmed by this gadgetry, I happily retreat to and cower comfortably within my geezerly cocoon of technical obsolescence, shielded from every whit, jot and tweetle of cybernetic intrusion.

What's that you say? Sorry, can't hear you!