Reaching Out

What this is cockamamie* new “reach out” thing, the mot du jour for silly Gen-Xers everywhere (or is it Gen-Yers, whichever ones You-Tube about Obama).
Thank you very much, but I’d rather you not “reach out” to me or anyone else. There is quite enough of that stuff going on these days – talk to an MBTA cop about their recent subway molester stings.
I don’t mind being contacted, e-mailed, called on the phone or, depending on who it is, visited, with or without notice.
I’m happy to be sent a letter, a package or a nice bouquet, and it makes me happy when someone whom I haven’t heard from in a long time gets in touch, figuratively speaking.
If you are drowning in a hostile body of water, then by all means, reach out to the nearest hand, life preserver or weather buoy.
Otherwise, reach out and touch someone if you must, but please make it someone other than me.
*interesting word, from the French d