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.