When one of the paper wasps managed to get into my condo I ceased being a curious amateur hymenoptera observer. A wasp MUST be on the other side of the glass! I had work to do out on my patio, so I shot the wasp nest with the water hose until it fell down, then tossed it out in the alley behind my fence. Next a cicada killer wasp went riccocheting around the patio. It was bigger than a hummingbird, but steered like a drunk teenager in an SUV with "Pinball Wizard" at full blast on his iPod. So much for playing Nature Girl! I dove back in the condo. Reminds me of when my beautician, the Scary Hair Lady, hasn't oiled the blade on her neck trimmer for awhile...or one of those bad mornings when I drop a fork into the garbage disposal!
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
Showing posts with label iPod. Show all posts
Showing posts with label iPod. Show all posts
8/5/07
1/7/07
Technology training with Elroy
My computer is at the vet's. It's power supply has gone crackerdog and flop bot like Mrs. Pumphrey's dog, Tricky Woo, in James Herriot's stories. My sons have let me check my email a couple times on their laptop computers. I can't seem to get my arm length to the teeny-tiny keyboard to cooperate with my bifocals for a view of the itty-bitty screen. I was glad when I learned how to attach a mouse to the laptop. It beats all that thumbing around.
Job applications keep asking me to list the technology training I've had recently. I've had on-the-job training crawling under the computer desk to untangle and disconnect computer cords. I recommend wearing a hardhat for the inevitable head bumps.
More importantly, I've received iPod training from a nineteen year-old. I let him drive if and only if I could select the music on our long car trip this week. He and his brother vetoed listening to my cd collection or NPR. Instead, I received intense training in creating a playlist on his iPod. I got the hang of the menus within menus to stack up songs like old 45s on a jukebox spindle. What throws me is the thumb rotations needed to scroll through the menus. If I were you, and had disposable income to invest in new products, I'd go with the Baby Boomer Ben Gay specially formulated for minor arthritis pain and aches associated with iPod thumb joint exertions. I'm thinking Elroy Jetson would be an effective celebrity spokesperson for BB Ben Gay.
I wonder what happened to Elroy and Judy Jetson when they grew up. Thanks, Joe Barbera, for Spacely Sprockets and Quick Draw McGraw.
Job applications keep asking me to list the technology training I've had recently. I've had on-the-job training crawling under the computer desk to untangle and disconnect computer cords. I recommend wearing a hardhat for the inevitable head bumps.
More importantly, I've received iPod training from a nineteen year-old. I let him drive if and only if I could select the music on our long car trip this week. He and his brother vetoed listening to my cd collection or NPR. Instead, I received intense training in creating a playlist on his iPod. I got the hang of the menus within menus to stack up songs like old 45s on a jukebox spindle. What throws me is the thumb rotations needed to scroll through the menus. If I were you, and had disposable income to invest in new products, I'd go with the Baby Boomer Ben Gay specially formulated for minor arthritis pain and aches associated with iPod thumb joint exertions. I'm thinking Elroy Jetson would be an effective celebrity spokesperson for BB Ben Gay.
I wonder what happened to Elroy and Judy Jetson when they grew up. Thanks, Joe Barbera, for Spacely Sprockets and Quick Draw McGraw.
5/28/05
Abducted by the Pod People
Actually, it was iPod people, male teens speaking their alien tongue, who abducted my computer. True, they didn't actually take it away. They more took it over, and my studio/office/bedroom, too, for three days.
"What are you doing?" I asked. The iPod people mumbled unintelligible phrases in their low voices. "Please give it back. Please, please," I pleaded. I was too sad and afraid to look into the eyes of my little mouse as she was forced to do their bidding.
At times during the long days, they would go off in search of large quantities of spicy provisions, letting me know from their growls, glares, and gestures that I was not to touch anything. Other times they would call me from their handheld communicator devices demanding that I perform ghastly technological chores that I could not understand beyond the words, "Click on".
It's over now. I have my computer and mouse back. The iPod people created their LAN, downloaded and copied (or vice versa) over two thousand songs into the iPod. How long these songs will sustain them, I don't know. Be on the lookout. Next time they may need YOUR computer.
"What are you doing?" I asked. The iPod people mumbled unintelligible phrases in their low voices. "Please give it back. Please, please," I pleaded. I was too sad and afraid to look into the eyes of my little mouse as she was forced to do their bidding.
At times during the long days, they would go off in search of large quantities of spicy provisions, letting me know from their growls, glares, and gestures that I was not to touch anything. Other times they would call me from their handheld communicator devices demanding that I perform ghastly technological chores that I could not understand beyond the words, "Click on".
It's over now. I have my computer and mouse back. The iPod people created their LAN, downloaded and copied (or vice versa) over two thousand songs into the iPod. How long these songs will sustain them, I don't know. Be on the lookout. Next time they may need YOUR computer.
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