LAS CRUCES - Ah, the
joys of learning!
I’d planned to give myself a break during cruel April, when
it seems the most I’m up to is persuading my body to survive allergy season.
Instead, when I’d just as soon turn on my home TV and veg
out, I’m learning how to “enjoy” a new “multiplatform entertainment roster” of
seemingly infinite possibilities. After a hard day slaving over the keyboards,
researching, writing and editing images and words at work, all I really want to
do is find and record my fave TV shows, and fast-forward through the
commercials.
I’ve never really bonded with Siri, truth to tell, and we
grew further apart after I asked her the meaning of life and the best she could
muster was, “Some think it’s chocolate.”
So, frankly, the last thing I want is a TV that talks, one
of the exciting new functions foisted on me, when I’d much prefer a rate cut,
thank you very much. I don’t want to have to tap several options to access a
bunch of teensy program logos, apparently for the illiterate, that zoom large
and offer a dozen more function choices.
But I’m learning to access old-fangled program listings, and
(finally, gracias a Dios) I’ve managed to turn off the voice function that automatically
reads the description of every program I scroll on my guide.
I still haven’t figured out how to shut off or dim the LED
clock and power lights that are bright enough to cast shadows in the dark. But
I’ve discovered I can get a little relief by covering them with a washcloth and
the instruction pamphlet that is written in three languages which I do not
speak.
Writing, in English, in which I do feel fluent, even
confident, after many decades doing it professionally, is getting more
challenging, too. In the newsroom, we’ve learned three new multiplatform
editing, word processing and photo and video systems during the last three
years.
When my old iPhone died last month, I was eagerly
anticipating a new, functional phone that I expected to be pretty much the
same. But no. I do not wish to bank, pay bills, watch movies or redeem coupons
on my cell phone. But I would like to figure out why I’m suddenly getting texts
and phone calls from years ago, which have apparently migrated from my old
phone, once owned by our former sports editor.
I have been attempting, without success, to find my helpful,
large print manual that is diplomatically called something like “iPhone for
Seniors” (rather than “dummies,” a tech title for which I qualify, alas). I’m
still struggling with aps and have signed up for a refresher course, hopefully taught
by a compassionate soul who recognizes how technical tangles impact Baby Boomer
like me.
Please don’t get me wrong. I’ve always been a fan of life-long
learning. There are all kinds of classes on my wish list, from line-dancing and
new forms of yoga to painting lessons from some of my favorite artists: Julie
Ford Oliver, Carolyn Bunch and Paula Van Overbeke Voris.
My contemporaries understand that high-tech learning can be
almost as painful as physical growing pains in adolescence. Our aging brains
(even pretty darn good ones that made Honor Society and mostly As in high
school and college) function in different ways from those of whippersnappers
who seem to have evolved in utero to automatically adapt to evolving tech
gadgetry. With a leap as profound as opposable thumbs, they physically sprang
forth with fingers, however large, that allow them to manipulate ever-tinier screens
and keyboards with great speed and ease.
I know this could seem like a cop-out, but my earnest
efforts have finally made believers of some of my most patient Millennial tech
tutors. One long-suffering soul recently told me I should become a consultant
for new tech product developers, “because if there is a way to do something
wrong, or make something new malfunction or not operate the way it’s supposed
to, you’ll find it.”
I don’t really have to find or search for it; it comes
naturally. It’s instinctive, or in the vernacular: it’s “intuitive,” my innate
default position.
I’m waiting for offers, tech testing magnates.
In the meantime, I rely on the kindness of my son, grandson
and patient whippersnapper colleagues and sometimes, hapless, compassionate strangers.
I’m willing to do just about anything to keep communicating and will willingly share
some hard-won wisdom and secrets of the universe, if only I can figure out how
to convey it all to you in a format you can accept and understand.
S. Derrickson Moore may be
reached at 575-541-5450, dmoore@lcsun-news.com or @derricksonmoore on Twitter.
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