SHUCKS, LIL’ FELLA — YOU NEED
… someone’s kid. Take one now and two morning and night until cured. Read on …
Starbucks again (and no, I don’t get a commission. But am recognised by name and choice, and more often than not score my favourite wee table).
Monday morning and the world’s my oyster (it’s the oyster season here and they’re waxing ecstatic about the crop. I like ’em myself but The Spouse calls them ‘slimeballs’ and then glares at me as if they’re all my fault). There’s not a cloud on the horizon and no sign of The Sage, my coffee is hot and foamy in the bucket and all is well with the world.
But I have a dilemma. New cellphone.
I remember a time when new anything used to be something to look forward to with a trill in the heart and a song on the lips—aaaah, halcyon distant days … but for the past decade or two ‘new’ has meant steep learning curves with much weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. 21st century devices coupling with a 20th century brain. Not good:
- I have a television that can do anything—I use it as a television
- I have a state-of-the-art computer that does me well as a typewriter (that just happens to connect with the wwweb. Sue me).
- Our microwave heats leftovers and makes a marvellous countdown timer. According to the good book it can do anything in the kitchen except put the cat out. It’s a few years old now but I imagine that the latest ones do cats …
- We have an extensive Dvd collection and a Dvd player that we use to play Dvds. (That’s as far as I got with the voluminous instruction book, the rest of which is still a virgin.) And thereby hangs the tale …
- I have a camera simply for taking photographs. I would if I could but the camera and I sometimes have horrendous arguments and the shot often gets missed—like the time when the Red Checkers (RNZAF Display Team) were here recently; the camera and I nearly came to blows (and if there’d been anyone close by they’d have caught some sublimely salty language). I still haven’t found the override button; but I managed to sneak in some acceptable shots. Most were out-of-focus images of fuzzy noses coming into the frame or furry tails departing. (I know, I know … when all else fails, consult the manual, right?)
THERE WAS A TIME
About a squillion years ago when adults passed skills on to their children. Sons and daughters and things sat wide-eyed at the feet of Father or Mother imbibing wisdom and knowledge. Granddad? He was held in superstitious awe … sadly no longer.
These days kids are born as technophiliac genii, from their very first breath groping for illuminated screens and buttons to press. Not for them the heavy books or masses of instruction manuals to plough through, those endless chapters of semi-literate gobbledegook written in half-comprehensible English, technicrese quite meaningless even to the initiated: the modern infant is born knowing this stuff.
It could be quite embarrassing, humiliating even—if I had any pride left to dent. But I am a modern ‘with it’ old poop of the New School—I have no compunctions at all about borrowing an infant to come in after a power outage and get everything running again.
As an aside:
Back in the eighties (aaah, VCRs … remember them?) I read somewhere that after a major power cut in Britain there’s be anything up to four million plus VCRs with blinking lights awaiting a knowledgable visitor to get them up and running again. Ah, happy days …
PS I adore statistics: Did you know that a man with his head in a hot oven and his feet in a frigid freezer is, on average, comfortable?