It Ain't Real Technology If It Don't Work Right

Current Status... I try to tell myself a woman of my age can stay abreast of new technologies. I tell myself the devices I can't work are either civilization-as-we-know-it destroyers or don't deserve the designation "technology" unless they both work, and are intuitive to operate. Intuitive by my lights, not some under-25 male nerd's so-called intuition. I'm pretty adamant about this, despite the fact that I'm rapidly turning into an elderly driver who seemingly can no longer multitask while motoring at night. Last week I got stopped (though not ticketed) by a state trooper who pointed out that I'd been slowing down and veering onto the shoulder while cars went around me. I was stunned, and also doubted him, as I would have heard the warning sound of tires hitting the edging of rough pavement meant to wake up sleepy operators, but had the wit to keep quiet and let him come up with my excuse: Was I tuning my radio? Oh yes, that's right, I was. (In truth, I was trying to find and start a podcast on my iPod while opening and consuming a small packet of veggie crisps, in the dark. Shoulda been a no-brainer.) Probably I did slow down, but that's only intuitive, right?

Lately I'm thinking... that it's Winter's fault. It's too dark, for too long. And my youth-oriented Toyota Matrix doesn't have as many niches for "stuff" as I require. Wearing 3 layers on a frigid day when I wear an extra jacket for the office party means I can't bend my arms or reach things in my car. Winter makes me helpless. Here's what happened last night --- 

This is really interesting... It was the first time I was wearing a new blue-tooth device to help me be "hands-free" while driving. Which works beautifully a) in daylight and b) as long as all I need to do is turn the damn thing On or Off. But, in the frigid dark, with my useless arms and my bulky gloves, I must have hit the wrong teeny-tiny button, because the Verizon Voice started listing Missed Calls and asking if I wanted to call the person back. "No, no, no!" I shouted. "Go away! Leave me alone!" Which, of course, The Voice does not understand, being a robot and not intuitive at all. So I ripped the device out of my ear --- since you have to hold the right button down for 4 seconds to turn it off. That seemed to have worked, and I turned it back on and wrested it back into place. But now, The Voice had taken something she'd heard as a "Yes," and was ringing someone, I didn't know who. I flung the BlueTooth from my ear again and held the button till I saw the red light: Off! Back on one more time, and it's ringing me now. I press the button to answer. It keeps ringing. Do this twice more before realizing the Bluetooth sings Die Valkyrie, it doesn't ring. My phone is ringing. Where is my phone? Somewhere deep in my black bag in my dark car. I dig and dig. Naturally, by the time I find it, the ringing has stopped. I check VoiceMail: It was Stewart. "I know you're trying to reach me," he says, "but it's not working, so try the land line." Grrr! You betcha it's not working! And I'm not doing it --- I'm not calling him back. I already know I can't use the cell phone and drive down the Saw Mill Parkway at 55 mph. I toss away the phone and start feeling around for the Bluetooth. But it's obviously bounced: it's not on the seat, not in my lap, probably on the cold, dark floor. My intuition tells me I was somewhat better off when I couldn't be reached while driving an automobile.

Currently reading... World's End, by T.C. Boyle, which after 50 pages or so is about 100 times better than my last book, The Spies of Warsaw, by Alan Furst. Reading Furst's novel turned out to be a quotidian experience. The general premise was interesting, but could have been dealt with more interestingly in a short story or nonfiction essay. There was no suspense, not even when the story cried out for it. The French colonel keeps putting himself in great danger, but nothing bad or even scary ever happens. At the end, he marries the girl, who could have been a spy for the "other side," but, of course, wasn't. Feh. If he's going to make bestseller money, shouldn't he be writing better books? (Another old-fashioned idea.)

The Soapbox: Hope is greater than fear. And I hope things get better soon. To attain your personal best, visit Women in Transition. To save your home or the home of a family you know, contact Seneca Debt Assistance at 1-888-808-1342. 

Right With the Times

Current Status... Oh, it's the solstice holidays, and it's dark most of the time, and nobody feels much like working. I miss my cat Emma, who died in mid-November; she came to my lap every time I crawled into bed and I'd sink my fingers into her bunny-soft fur. She was funny, a typically nervous tortoise-shell, but she enjoyed having her calico belly rubbed endlessly. There'll never be another cat like her. In the meantime, though, we have a new adoptee -- an 11-year-old torty-point Himalayan whose owner grew too old to care for her. Chanel's very sweet, but still prefers hiding under furniture to any type of confrontation, even loving ones. She's just beginning to trust me. Still, I hold her for a time each day and brush her long fur; very satisfying.
This is really interesting... November 4, 2008 to January 20, 2009 seems like the longest, slowest transition period in our nation's history (except, maybe, for Hoover to Roosevelt). From the day after the national election, people have wanted Mr. Obama to find a way to get into the White House anywhere from "a little early" to "right now." Lacking the requisite change in statutes, however, it's already as if he's at the helm, captaining the ship, giving the orders -- except that there's still a gremlin in the cargo hold, poking holes in the hull with a hand drill (Mr. Bush).
Lately I've Been Thinking... Why can't Dubya go lame, this d(umb cl)uck? Why must he lease drilling rights to hundreds of thousands more wilderness acres? Why must he make it impossible to save endangered species if someone wants to build a strip mall? Why must he go on making it easier and easier to lop off Appalachian mountain tops, and bury West Virginia streams and rivers in dirt, stone and tree trunks? Someone, perhaps Cheney, must think they'll slow the next administration's progressive agenda by creating an infinite number of last-minute "wrongs" that must be "righted" before real progress can be made. Bastards.
Currently reading... The Spies of Warsaw, Alan Furst's new book. It's actually my "first Furst," though I've been meaning to check him out. He's not as great a writer as LeCarre, of course, but his spy stories do take place in WWII, and I enjoy that time period. Plotting is good, too -- you don't see things coming. I find it fascinating to be inside the head of a French officer. This book made the NYTimes Top 10 of the year. I'm almost done -- stay tuned for the final review.
The Soapbox: You can always choose hope, not fear.
P.S... Don't forget to visit the Women in Transition coaching Web site!

Why Must Flying Be So Uncomfortable?

Current Status... I'm still thinking about air travel and how unpleasant it is. We all hate it --- from frequent business flyers to family travelers. Because we are not treated well, though the airlines pretend to be doing us a series of great favors. It's like the old saw: "Speed, Quality, Low Cost --- you can have two out of three." Only with air travel, you're really lucky to get one.

Lately I'm thinking... I'm an infrequent flyer and have recent experience only with American and Delta, but I won't be using Delta again, since they canceled my connecting flight WHILE I WAS IN THE AIR. Grrrr, the NERVE. And I would have forgiven them if they had arranged an alternative connection for me, as airlines did in the old days, before computerization --- but I was on my own, without a cell phone. What a horrible, long, long day that was! More recently, American seems to shine at the rare quality of timeliness, but they accomplish this by herding us like sheep dogs nipping at our heels --- into planes that are full and inhumanely cramped. Narrow seats; your front neighbor tilts his oily scalp into your lap, and your lateral companions' every move and expression of discomfort are cause for annoyance. You can't get 8 fluid oz. of water from the steward, and you pay an extra $15 to $25 just to check one bag.

This is really interesting... Imagine a near future in which American companies have figured out how to make air transport profitable through altternative fuels and lighter aircraft, while at the same time pleasing their customers into feelings of deepest brand loyalty. Aircraft designed to comfortably accommodate humans of every "class," while retaining some degree of privacy and dignity. Dangling, personally sanitized glass tubes, like in hamster cages, where you can suck at a nipple to get infinite amounts of pure, cool water without balancing a glass during turbulence. One stowed bag free, of course. More small planes flying directly to more cities. Air quality excellent from gate to tarmac to sky and down again. No more boring instructions before the flight. Fresh fruit, gourmet coffee. Ahhh.

Currently reading... The Spies of Warsaw, Alan Furst's new book. It's actually my "first Furst," though I've been meaning to check him out. He's not as great a writer as LeCarre, but his spy stories do take place in WWII and I enjoy that time period. Plotting is good, too --- you don't see things coming. 

The Soapbox: Always choose hope, not fear.  PS---don't forget to check out life coaching for Women in Transition.