Holy Be Jesus

Technological gadgets rule our world the same way dinosaurs did decades ago when Jurasic Park was released.  Thus, these devices dominated much of the space beneath our 2015 Christmas trees.

Technology frightens me.  Fortunately, I am married to someone who stands up to technology with iron fingers, so when a random icon mysteriously shows up or vanishes on my laptop screen, I don’t run and hide.  I simply, and, successfully, troubleshoot through her.  We have a dog who is similar to me.  She fears technology as much as heathens fear Jesus, but she doesn’t handle her fear so gracefully.

Speaking of Jesus, we have a gift, or device, in our house which scares the Bejesus out of one of our dogs.  The device is an Amazon Echo, and it has a name.  “She” is referred to as Alexa. This is how I can, so articulately, describe it:  It is a voice activated machine capable of answering the most burning of questions or may act as a servant if you wish to give it commands.  Alexa is, basically, a highly advanced psychic eight ball with a voice.  At any moment, we can ask Alexa to play music or provide the daily news.  We may ask her to tell us jokes, or tell us how many moons surround Jupiter.  We may describe a smell in our house, and she will determine if it is coming from me or one of our animals.  She’s quite handy at times, but she can also create an uneasy environment within the room.  There are times when Alexa speaks when no one in the room is asking a question.  When Alexa begins making us feel as though we are participating in a Twilight Zone episode, we try to remain calm for our animals.  Alexa displays an ominous tone causing our dog, Etta, to stop texting other dogs in the neighborhood, drop her iPhone and run for shelter……….our bed.

Further disturbing,  Alexa will talk in the middle of the night, which is quite disconcerting when we are a full floor above her domain and again haven’t prompted her with a question or command.  Quite frankly, our poor dogs thinks it’s demonic.  When Etta hears Alexa’s voice, she bolts out of the room faster than the Amish can build a barn.  On Christmas morning, I wanted to play some classic Charlie Brown Christmas tunes, and upon hearing Alexa state, rather tonelessly, “Here are some Charlie Brown Christmas tunes just for you, Etta”, Etta fled our Christmas themed living room like a dog out of Hell.  There’s nothing like the antichrist showing up on Christmas morn.

Here’s to a scary new year.

Hiyah!!!

My great nephew, Rocco, is truly great.  When he visits our house, he is well mannered, fun, and possesses a terrific personality.  Additionally, at the age of five, he has a fondness for technology and, like his mother and father, wants to always remain on the cutting edge of it.  However, his father, Pat, and mother, Lacy, wisely, always want to stay at least one step, or in this case, one karate chop ahead of him.

Rocco and his family enjoy using a selfie stick.  For those of you who don’t know, a selfie stick can be described as an elongated stick you can attach to your camera or mobile phone, allowing you to take better pictures or films of yourself or others in the background.  (I like to refer to it as a long distance facial stick.)  The stick also can be attached to a strap which is wrapped around your chest, leaving the camera hands free.   After filming yourself, you can then watch the unedited footage from a computer with your parents observing the action.   It’s basically the worst idea for a child to have attached to their chest.  Actually, unless taking a family photo, it’s just the worst idea since unsliced bread.

At one point, Rocco believed the selfie stick was a hell of an idea with thoughts of capturing every move he made in his backyard.  I can’t blame him.  Everyone wishes to see themselves on T.V., and, sometimes, just once is enough.

One afternoon, Rocco had one of his neighborhood cousins over to play in the yard.  Promising to be careful with the selfie stick and camera, Rocco was allowed to use it until dinner time.  With no surprise, after a while, there was a bit of a ruckus in the backyard between the two cousins, and Rocco was brought in for dinner while his cousin was taken home crying.  Selfie stick status:  Unharmed.  The ruckus was deemed by both sets of parents as nothing but the usual sibling disagreement, or they were just plain tired and hungry.

Post dinner, Rocco’s parents asked if they could watch the footage before his bedtime.  Reluctantly, Rocco agreed, and they all watched the magnificent cinematography with laughter for thirty glorious minutes.  At the 31st minute of his directorial debut, strangely, Rocco asked if he could excuse himself to bed early.  His parents found this odd because, clearly, there were fifteen minutes remaining of the backyard motion picture, and Rocco had never requested to head to the fart sack earlier than completely necessary.  Nevertheless, they excused him, but keenly, knew something was rotten in their neighborhood.  Although tired of the feature film, they decided to finish the remaining fifteen minutes on their own.  They weren’t disappointed with the entertainment value, just a little with Rocco.

While making sure Rocco was tucked into bed, they walked downstairs and pressed the play button again.  After several minutes had lapsed,  what sounded to be the start of a disagreement with Rocco’s cousin turned into one precise universal word echoed throughout the neighborhood by Rocco,  thus completely explaining why he was so eager to slumber.  “HIYAH!”  Pat and Lacy heard Rocco’s bellow on the computer loud and clear just before his tiny little hand landed a karate chop on his cousin’s outstretched paw which may or may not have been reaching for the selfie stick.  Crying soon ensued and the ruckus mystery was solved.  Making the biggest selfie stick mistake a five year old can make, Rocco had filmed himself committing this egregious act of toddler violence.

Since Rocco’s parents are rational people, I believe they had an honest chat with him about his misbehavior, but didn’t take the incident too seriously.  Evidently, Rocco was sincerely sorry and would apologize to his cousin the next time they met.  However, Rocco had a serious question for them the next morning.  He asked them, just in case he was allowed to use the selfie stick in the future, where the pause button was located on the phone camera.  I told you he was great.

 

 

 

What Did We Do? (At the Coffee Shop)

Sometimes, the encounters we dread the most turn out to be easier than anticipated….with the right attitude.

Although a dubious honor, I have been deemed by some as the most impatient man in the world. (my wife crowned me with this honor, and her mother agreed so the winner of the prize was unanimously settled.  I even have a plaque with an inscription of my title on our mantle.) That being written, coffee shops are a terrific place for an impatient to man to become annoyed.  On the contrary, they can also be a place of comfort as well as being therapeutic if your stress is managed properly.  Now, being impatient in a coffee shop is almost as dreadful as being impatient in a Department of Motor Vehicle’s Outlet Store when tabs are going on sale for half price.  Therefore, one must generate the nerve to tolerate even the most simple of inconveniences.

Coffee shops offer a variety of reasons to squat or stand as patrons.  If you are a caffeine crackpot, you run in, run out, even if it means pushing aside a senior citizen or two while trying to successfully get to your car before you are ticketed for using a handicapped parking spot.   You may also get your breakfast in a convenient flash while ordering the Pastry a la Punctual.  This danish is always available (a.k.a., yesterday’s danish) therefore, you can receive it even before the sun comes up.  An additional attraction most coffee shops offer is free wi-fi and a safe, quiet, comfortable environment with which to work. Usually writing from my computer lab at home, I need a daily break from the dogs begging me to take them for a walk.  I need an hourly break from continuously entering the kitchen looking for a snack when writer’s blog block is bellyaching for food.  So, I pack up the computer and head for a coffee shop.  Basically, I need a break from taking breaks. Although I do order a drip coffee, I only take advantage of the latter of the attractions normally maintaining few distractions.

While entering one of the billions of coffee shops in Seattle, I find the last empty available table equipped to uncomfortably sit three.  Two tables directly to my right hold the same occupancy level and are comfortably occupied by one person each.  Perfect.  I order a cup of coffee and set up computer camp: backpack, laptop, notebook, pens and cellphone (for emergency purposes only).

Fifteen minutes pass and the words I am forming into complete sentences may be the beginning of a nice anecdote….and I believe the conclusion just walked through the door.  It is a man in his mid to late sixties, well dressed, probably successfully retired, and bored with laptop in tow.  The two strangers, let’s say in laptop stations one and two, also analyze the situation.  Collectively, we share a glance and read each others’ minds.  Which station will he choose to share?  Station one sits a young lady looking like she is probably armed with mace, although her broad shoulders tell me she wouldn’t require it with this new patron.  Station two holds a middle aged techno servant to the corporate Gods who doesn’t even smell the least bit friendly. Or,  Station three, me……a person making eye contact with a smile too often with strangers leading them to believe I am as harmless as they come.  Station one and two don’t even flinch.  They think I’m doomed, and they are correct.

Sure as Seattle has Starbucks, this gentleman asks me if he may share my table.  With a semi-phony smile, I say, “of course” and make ample room.  (Working on patience also breeds kindness.)  Indeed, there is plenty of room, but he strikes me as a man seeking conversation which is the very last thing I am seeking.  To convince him I’m busy, I began writing sentences making no sense at all just to keep him from saying or asking anything.  My fingers begin bouncing off the keyboard like tiny kangaroos in heat.  I can’t afford to pause, yawn, sneeze, cough or even clear my throat.  Feeling him staring at me searching for the right time to squeeze into my life makes me so self conscience I begin to sweat, and I know he can see the drips forming on my receding hairline like a Scottish army of nervous souls.  While fidgeting with his laptop, I flash a glance at him wondering if he knows the shop’s wi-fi password.  Certainly, I would offer it to him for no charge.  Again, working on my patience breeds kindness, but unfortunately, too much kindness.  If taken advantage of, kindness can manifest into anger.  Responding to my glance, he busts in with his first question: “What did we do without computers?”  Pompously grinning, Stations one and two knew I’d take the bait.  Since the question can be construed as rhetorical, I can take advantage of the option to ignore it, but don’t.   Rather than smiling and shaking my head in response with an incredulous “Duh, I don’t know” look on my face, I answer his question as though I could see it coming on the AARP express lane of rhetorical questions.  My thoughts weave concise statements of what it was like for me before computers.  “We played outside.  We played kick the can in our backyard. We had disorganized rock fights and rotten potato fights in neutral fighting fields.  We competed in wiffleball, baseball, and football in our yards, and played basketball at any park with a hoop.  We boxed and played hockey in our basement and ate dinner as a family.  We walked through wooded hills where hobos made their camps, and when forced to, we read books.  When one random trail in the hills grew tiresome or monotonous, we’d find a different one to blaze on the way to a seven eleven where they’d be giving away day old donuts.  We built tree forts, snow forts, walked throughout our neighborhood on Halloween and weren’t afraid the neighbors would poison us.  Ya know, that sort of stuff.”

I thought it provided a definitive answer to his fairly easy question. Chuckling, he adds, “Yes, those were the days.”  At that point, I believed the conversation began with his introduction, proceeded with my body of evidence convincing him there was life before computers, and ended with his conclusion.  Not so fast.  His eyes slide from mine to my shirt.  “Are you from Spokane?”  Ahhhhh!  I look down at the shirt I’m wearing and notice it is adorned with a caption reading, “Spokane Sasquatch”.  This is a college in Spokane and its mascot is the Sasquatch.  (I did grow up in Spokane and teach middle school there for upwards to fifteen years before moving to Seattle.  My wife thought the shirt would be  a nice gift and a friendly reminder for me to never return to Spokane unless they actually found a sasquatch roaming the hills I used to climb as a child.)  “Yeah.  I was born and raised there.”  That’s all it took.  Quickly, he proceeds, “I was born and raised their too!” Of COURSE, he was born and raised there as well!  This is perfect!  We will have so much to talk about!  We can share so many stories of our old crapping grounds.   Now, it is all Station one and two can do to keep from falling off their high chairs laughing at the uncivilized knucklehead from Spokane entertaining this man’s wish to commiserate.  Placing my normally impatient pistols down on the floor, I wave my white flag and surrender.  Very kindly, with terrific patience and a semi genuine grin, I respond, “What a coincidence.”  Growing up a few blocks from me, he remembers the hills we roamed as children.  He attended the same church as our family.   According to him, his father or his father’s best friend, both well respected physicians in Spokane, may have delivered me and another one of my siblings into this world.  Graduating from Gonzaga University in Spokane, he raised an eyebrow when I told him I graduated from Washington State University.  His raised eyebrow seemed more like an “I’m so sorry” than an “Oh, what an interesting school to choose, and what led you from Pullman to Seattle?”  You see, once you begin and accidentally encourage conversation with many people like this very kind man, the questions coming your way usually cease to exist.  Notoriously, this is when I begin twitching and feeling uncomfortable, because knowing then, I must find a way to put out the conversational fire before it gets out of hand or the coffee shop closes.  However, I find a way to relax and remembered moving to Seattle, thinking how very busy everyone seemed to be, making many of them extremely impatient and extraordinarily rude.  That could have rubbed off on me that very day.  It didn’t.

I didn’t fabricate a story of how my wife was 9 and a half months pregnant and I should probably get a move on to the delivery room.  I didn’t send a text to a friend, requesting he call in a bomb threat to our coffee shop of horrors.  Rather, I merely enjoyed listening to this man find pleasure in talking about his memories of a hometown revisited with a common stranger.  Before the shop closed, the gentleman and I shook hands, and he made his exit before I did.  Perhaps, he was tired of me asking so many questions when fully engaged.

Ultimately, I engaged in friendly fire, and not a soul was harmed.  It didn’t feel charitable, and I didn’t walk away thinking, “well, I’ve done my civic duty today.”  In fact, it turned out to be a pleasure.  Patience and kindness are virtues we almost, at times, try to avoid.  I’ve been guilty of it.  But, when you look upon such terms, try to recognize them as honorable traits instead of obstacles of displeasure.  I guess you could ultimately say, even when busy,”sometimes, ya gotta stop and smell the strangers.”

 

 

 

Microsoft Bullies

This may come as a surprise to many of my friends, relatives and anyone who knows me,but I am not a wizard when it comes to computer skills.  As embarrassing as that was to say, it is a relief to get that off my separated shoulder blades.  It’s an admission of guilt making my week much better. (I wish my friend, Jack, could admit his lack of computer skills….he would feel much better as well.)

Guys like Jack and I are old school.  We like to write quietly on paper and talk in ALL CAPS.  Isn’t that how Ted “the dead” Roosevelt said it?  Anyway, that’s just not the way it works these days. Sometimes, you must conform.

While struggling with my computer this morning, somewhat angrily, I summoned my wife, fortunately ill today to assist me with minor problems so I could accomplish something on this day besides picking up dog crap. As usual, she happily allowed a computer simpleton to feel a bit better regarding his skills.

Quite seriously, I just don’t know computers.  Sometimes, I know how to write, but my critics respond to me about not knowing what an RSS, VPS, CCR, VCR or STD really is.  I do know about one of them.  All but one intimidates me.  The other one embarrasses me. I hate to be embarrassed. This leads me to the point.

Frustrated with the computer, my wife led me on a mysterious path only three or thirteen people know how to navigate on this planet.  She instructed me that invisible Icons do, in fact, exist.  For those of you who don’t know what an Icon is, it is a picture which you can click on telling you to go here or there, much like a Dr. Suess book.  It’s simple, fun and easy.  This other button was much like finding the elusive Sasquatch.  It’s fun, but not simple nor easy. It shouldn’t exist unless you find the dead body, or in this case, scroll down to the bottom of the screen to an invisible icon notifying you have done something stupid.  My computer situation was rectified.  My issues with Microsoft Bullies was not.  They are laughing at me right now.  They know I played baseball and football, and they seem pleased to destroy my level of semi intelligence.

When my wife was describing these problems, I was blown away by her computer knowledge.  Therefore, I asked a simple question when finding this invisible icon.  “How the Hell was I supposed to find that”?  Her reply:  “Don’t worry, I took 13 classes on operating systems, and some of these smart guys are just trying to F with guys like you.”

I was never a bully, but I do sometimes feel threatened by those with higher intellects.

Oh, and by the way, if I ever run into any of you Microsoft Bullies, I will beat the crap out of you until you give me the secrets to using this machine.

Love and kisses,

Ben