Channeling Andy Rooney on Technology

Warning: I'm going to get all Andy Rooney grumpy pants here.

What is the deal with these codes I have to type in on the internet to prove I'm not a self-actualized robot?

They used to be a jumbled word.  Then they became upper and lower case. Next, it became two words. NOW, it's numbers and words.

Confession: I have been unable to comment on blogs simply because I can not type in the proper code. After four times--yes, FOUR--I give up.

My failure makes me feel...old. And I'm NOT old.

Read in the appropriately curmudgeon voice:

• "Back in my day, we didn't have email. We wrote letters."
• "When I was a kid, we didn't have smart phones. We had to look things up in encyclopedias."
• "We didn't have Pinterest to plan our childhood parties. We had McDonald's Playland and a birthday cake."
•  "When I was in the third grade we moved to a small town where you didn't even have to dial a prefix. Just four numbers.  Most times I dial now, it requires more numbers than I have fingers and toes."

How on this green earth am I going to manage by the time I qualify for senior citizen discounts? It will probably be an eye scan. Of course,  I'll probably develop cataracts and it will misread.

Maybe, by then, I can buy a computer program to figure out those darned codes for me.


Follow up: My husband told me this makes me sound much older than I really am--especially because of the phone number thing. It was a very small town. 

And I'm not old.  Not yet.

Shiny new apple

I have a new computer.

Garrett spent hours this weekend transferring things from my old laptop to this one. He's been telling me I needed a new one for almost a year. A plethora of reasons, including the desire to complete Glamour without having to learn a new system, kept me from yielding. Although the blue screen of death appeared frequently, Garrett always resurrected my little laptop for me. This week I consented to a new computer because my old faithful IBM Thinkpad was doing strange things a little too often.

Change isn't easy. I like my old laptop.
Sure, only one of its closure clasps works.
Okay, so the keyboard is coming apart from the rest of the computer.
Yeah, the letters are missing from most of the keys from daily use.

I'm a big fan of The Velveteen Rabbit. Loving something makes it real. Just because it's not shiny new anymore doesn't mean it should be thrown in the fire.

I still don a plaid, pleated skirt I've had since the 8th grade.
I still date the guy I met as a college freshman.
I still drive a dented Taurus with the check engine light on.
Why? I love them.

However, I have a lot of work and photos saved to that laptop. If it decided one day to eat them all, I'd have thrown the thing in a fire myself--after running over it with my car and bludgeoning it with a hammer. When I realized that possibility was close, I consented to the new computer.

Since it's a Mac, a definite transition period is to be expected.

But I'm sure I'll grow to love it.
The flat keyboard feels rather nice beneath my fingertips.
The white color is bright and cheery.
The features seem exciting--once I learn how to use them.

Yeah, maybe I'll like this newbie after all.