Dear Computer Gods....

Dear Computer Gods,

What diabolical Dark Lords in the computer programming world have you hired to technologically torture ordinary, computer-using mortals?  Do you derive sadistic pleasure from driving us to the brink of insanity?

The message, “Updates are Available for Your Computer,” relentlessly pops up on everyone’s computer.  Why are we needing to update so often?  I can understand updating on occasion, but the constant harangue is an unneeded barrage obviously designed by Computer Gods to toy with our minds. 

The update attacks are like an advanced game of Cat and Mouse, with the Dark Lords maliciously bombarding humans’ minds subliminally.  Chinese Water Torture has been used to make soldiers and spies crack, but this is more insidious.  Even after breaking, and installing the suggested updates, an hour later, the computer may pop up a message asking the user to install yet another update to the same program. 

There’s no logical reason to constantly be updating, unless the program is perhaps an anti-virus one.  Programs work fine.  To all who use a computer, know the Dark Lords are battering your mind, attacking relentlessly to make you submissive and easy to control.  Protect yourselves; fight.

In addition to update popups, the Computer Gods continue the assault on our minds via G-mail, Yahoo Mail, Thunderbird, Incredimail, and all the other e-mail clients.  We are reduced to pleading for our lives. 

Therefore, I, along with the rest of mankind, implore you, Computer Gods, to delete the dialogue box that automatically appears when sending e-mails that have nothing typed into the “subject” box.  I know the subject line is blank on certain occasions – I just want to send the e-mail. 

Please don’t make me click on anything – please don’t pop up a box!  I can’t take anymore!  First the updates…now the e-mail subjects!  No!  Not another “No Subject” warning!  No more update popups!  Please!  Noooo…not Java, too…….go…goo..mme..a..do.dhgkfyllntyp,vdleesl’……………

"Memories, Pressed Between the Pages of My Mind..."

As I sit in Starbucks, the song playing in the background on this particular day penetrates the dim recesses of my mind, breaking my concentration as I’m tapping the keys on my netbook.  My thoughts become fascinated and focused on “I could have danced, all night, I could have danced all night, and still have begged for more…,” and the lyrics rush in to transport me back to special times in my life. 

I first discovered the Frederick Loewe/ Alan Jay Lerner song as a student when I sang in the chorus for my high school’s musical production of “My Fair Lady.”   Shortly after, I again found the song in a collection of sheet music while riffling through scores at the music store.   I purchased the book and proceeded to teach myself to play “I Could Have Danced All Night” on the piano, when I should have been practicing my weekly piano lesson assignment.  The song appealed to me. 

 I found myself singing that song whenever I sang around the house, belted out tunes in the car, and couldn’t refrain from sharing tunes at work.   The song was one of my favorites. 

I had taken dancing lessons as a child, and years later, I still enjoy dancing.  While dating after my first divorce, I spent every weekend dancing at Frisco Bay.  Music, dancing, and singing were like breathing to me, and became times filled with joy.  Eventually, as an active community theatre member, I was cast as Mrs. Pearce, the housekeeper, in “My Fair Lady,” and again, that particular song entered my life.  It seemed a part of me. 

It’s amazing how we associate so many songs with certain events in our lives.  “How Much Is That Doggy in the Window” brings back childhood memories of my grandmother and aunt as they sang that to me.  The first .45 record I owned  in junior high was “Do Wah Diddy Diddy,  soon followed by “Lightning Strikes,” “I’m Henry the VIII, I Am,” and “Last Kiss,” along with .33 rpm albums from Paul Revere and the Raiders, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, and The Monkees.  “See you in September” reminds me of a certain guy I met while roller skating.  We skated all the couples skates together – he skating backwards, spinning, and me just staying upright and skating forward.  “Love is Blue,” the theme song from “Exodus,” and “Solfeggio” often filled the house during high school years as I played the piano.  A decade or so  later,  I sang “In the Good Old Summertime” and “Puff the Magic Dragon” to my children at bedtime, while “It’s Only a Paper Moon,” “Sentimental Journey,” “Moon over Miami,” and “One Kiss” bring back memories of my mother playing 40’s songs on the piano as I was growing up.  “Hang on Sloopy” will always remind me of going to football games and attending OSU.

Certain songs can even make us grimace whenever we hear them.  Please, just don’t choose “Silent Night” when I’m around at Christmas – I’ve never liked that song.  Maybe I don’t like it’s because everyone else waxes poetic and almost swoons over it, when it’s really a rather ordinary, almost boring, song.  I much prefer “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” “O Holy Night,” “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” or a host of others.

So today, I’m smiling as I reminisce in Starbucks as the music enfolds me in its arms.  An old friend, “I Could Have Danced All Night” is dancing around in my thoughts.  “I’ll never know what made it so exciting…”  

Wonderful songs color our lives.  They stir our memories.   Certain songs do, indeed, speak to each one of us in an individual way like "I Could Have Danced All Night" does to me.  Bring on some Chopin, some good pop and country music, a little jazz, some show tunes, and a lot of oldies for me.  “Lullabye, and good night, With roses bedight…”

Pineapple Chunks

I don’t remember eating fresh pineapple as a kid.  Sure, we had canned pineapple as well as canned peaches, pears, and fruit cocktail while I was growing up, along with fresh fruit such as bananas, Red Delicious apples in season, occasionally grapes, plus oranges and tangerines at Christmas time.

Maybe other families frequently served fresh pineapple chunks here in southeastern Ohio among the rolling foothills of the Appalachians during the '50's, '60's and early '70's, but I doubt it.  Although I suppose my family was atypical for the times in the sense both my parents had an education and attended college, my family was typical middle class, and had all grown up here in this county.  Both my parents had grown up during the Great Depression, so understood the value of stretching the dollar, especially with five children in the house, and certainly taught us all to appreciate the in-season fresh fruit we did have.  Fresh pineapple, however, simply never appeared on the dinner table, as it probably didn’t on most other folks’ around here, too.

Perhaps transportation and shipping, and its ensuing costs in procuring and obtaining fresh produce, especially from more exotic locales, had not developed to today’s standards.  For example, even though it’s not fresh produce, I ordered Canadian coffee last Friday through Amazon, and Saturday morning, much to my surprise, the FedEx man pulled up to the house with my order.  Quite impressive.  Quite easy.  Orders from earlier decades definitely did not have the same advantages we have today.

I remember having my first taste of fresh pineapple after college, and discovered, to my surprise, it didn’t taste much like its canned version.  I really liked the sweet, fresh version.  By the time I had progressed to buying a fresh pineapple, I had to figure out how to cut it up as I had never seen anyone do that, but luckily, I found it easy to do.  

Certain foods seem to be regional favorites, almost part of a culture.  When a friend’s daughter, who had grown up here, accepted a job in NYC, eventually meeting her fiancé there, she told her mother not to plan on fixing any “Midwestern food” for her bridal shower. 

I didn’t understand.  As far as I knew, nothing labeled “Midwestern food” existed.  Grits and black eyed peas, to me were Southern, but I had never heard anything called “Midwestern,” except an area of the country and an accent.  My friend smiled when I asked, “What’s Midwestern food?”

 My friend explained her daughter had banned ham, green bean casserole, baked beans, potato salad and anything involving jello.  To me, those were excellent food choices, staples almost.  So I had to ask, “What do they eat?”  She laughed, and explained people on the East Coast eat lots of seafood and pasta. 

Maybe fresh pineapple isn’t “Midwestern food” then, although it’s certainly become readily available here, and I love it.  The important point, however, is something I can take from my childhood.   We all need to keep fresh pineapple in mind as it’s a reminder, particularly to me, to seek and try new things I wouldn’t ordinarily encounter during an ordinary day.  I would hate to think I had missed out on the fresh pineapple in my life.

No E-Reader for Me!

Surprisingly, I do not have an e-reader.  Yes, I read voraciously.  Yes, I majored in English.  Yes, I've had a lifetime love affair with books.  But no, I have not purchased an e-reader.

Despite periodically looking at ads for Kindles and Nooks to compare prices and read reviews about e-readers, I cannot bring myself to buy one.  I almost think I'm ready to do it, but I pull back at the last second.  I have the money, so it's not a financial problem.  I love computers and electronics, so that's not an obstacle.  The reluctance seems to stem from a deeper source.

Friends, and even strangers, will tell me when I ask why they like e-readers, that the e-reader is easy to stick in a pocket, briefcase, or pocketbook.  I'm sure they are.  I usually have a paperback stashed in my purse, however, and often either carry a hardback or put one in my tote.  Carrying a book is not a problem for me.  But then again, I also worked in several academic libraries for a few years.

Some people think e-readers are an excellent choice because e-books cost less.  E-books by major authors generally cost  $12.99 -- 14.99.   I can wait until the same title is out in paperback for an even better price (Amazon's current Best Sellers in paperback start at $7.12 and range upward another dollar or two, for most), or I can even shop sales, bargain books stores, or purchase used copies on Amazon if cost is that important.  As far as the e-books on sale for $.99 or $1.99, it's not that I'm a book snob, but I'm usually not as interested in reading those (and yes, I realize you can find wonderful selections where you least expect them).

Another reason people recommend e-readers stems from the fact these folks use them as notebook/i-pad/laptops.  These people tend to be excited over their Kindle Fires and the Nook Tablets because they tell me they can check their e-mail, search the web, and play games, too.  Being the mother of a computer geek, and a quasi-geek herself, I already have a netbook which does all of those things, and does them better.  I can download an e-reader and access a "cloud" from my sweet little Asus if I choose, and it, too, fits into my tote. 

Logical (to my brain) as these reasons for purchasing an e-reader above may be, I have discovered they are not the only reasons why I don't have, or even want, an e-reader.  The issue is more complex.  It's almost primal.  Holding a book in my hands brings me pleasure.  I'm a touchy-feely gal.  Some books are breathtakingly beautiful, and some contain an inner beauty and maturity beyond their covers and pages.  I find it more satisfactory to actually turn the pages in a book rather than to read and scroll online. 

Book reading for me is like a real-time, face-to-face, personal relationship as opposed to a non-physical, virtual, on-line relationship -- one is far more pleasurable, satisfactory, and intimate than the other.  You all can have a limited relationship via e-reader if you like, but as for me, give me the physical, emotional, and spiritual one.   I choose love and the book.

My "Take" on Valentine's Day

Although Valentine's Day caters to lovey-dovey couples, females who hope a Valentine will miraculously show up on their doorstep, and men who feel compelled by societal and relationship pressures to purchase posies, buy candy and jewelry, and arrange reservations for candlelight dinners, Valentine's Day also carries a lot of emotional baggage for many folks who wish this day would skydive over the edge of the Earth and disappear. 

"I hate Valentine's Day" becomes a mantra for many of these individuals.  Their glares and disparaging comments seem to hint at past pain from previous relationships, or loneliness and despondency brought on by the incessant barrage of sappy commercials advertising Valentine specials.  I can certainly understand their pain.  A few ruckus-raising rebels always delight in proclaiming loudly they don't need a significant other in their lives, and that Valentine's Day is of no significance to them, one way or another. Certainly, we've discovered that we don't have to have someone in our lives to complete us.  We are all unique, wonderful individuals, who hopefully, love ourselves.

If Valentine's Day, however, does create an aura of sadness and longing, of pain and weepiness, I have some suggestions to make February 14th better.  I've found a few ways for me to quickly get out of any momentary funk brought on by the holiday.

Rather than go out to couple-infested restaurants that have long wait times and make you feel all the more alone on Valentine's Day, make yourself one of your all-time favorite meals (sea scallops, or porterhouse steak, or spaghetti and meatballs, for me), or kick back, watch a good movie, and call out for pizza delivery.  You're special, so head to the mall and buy yourself something nice (My cats like me to pick out my own gifts from them!).  Treat yourself to a hot fudge/caramel sundae with cashews or a Starbucks' mocha.  Do your nails with a new, Spring color (I'm partial to Razzle-Dazzle myself, right now).

Call a friend and play some old-school video games together.  Take yourself to one of your favorite places (visit Franklin Park Conservatory, go bowling, listen to good music at a piano lounge, paint your heart out at the art class at Hobby Lobby, for example).

I love to send out silly, inexpensive, unexpected Valentine cards to family and friends' pets, or to children, or to other single adults to make people smile.  What about hosting an informal wine-tasting for a few friends, or a fun-filled, entertaining game night with board and card games? I've been known to host a 3-D party, featuring the classic "Creature from the Black Lagoon."  

I also think volunteering gives far more than anyone expects --  not only do you help others, but you're also helping your community as well as yourself.  Food pantries, hospitals, libraries, schools, and community organizations would love having you help with activities.

Whatever you decide to do on this Valentine's Day, smile.  Not only will you feel like the sun is shining wherever you are, but everyone with whom you come into contact will be able to bask in your sunshine, and perhaps make a little sunshine themselves. 

Broken "Cords"

Cords, cords, and more cords everywhere!  I don’t know about you, but this is the wireless age when cords tangle with one another in the dark recesses in my kitchen, dangle from a basket on the computer desk, crouch in the cupboards, linger on dressers, and loiter in their favorite lair – the hall closet. 

What are all these cords?  Where do they belong?  Are all these cords recklessly reproducing in wild abandon on slow, rainy afternoons in my house?  There’s certainly a multitude of them.

How many cords can there be?  Cords for cell phone chargers, car chargers, GPS hookups, computer cords of all types from DVI video cards to 3.5 mm. audio cords as well as laptop ones, video game hookups, tv HDMI cables, digital camera cords, USB cords for an unearthly number of products, including their cousins, the micro USB cords, cords for MP3 players, VGA  cords, rechargeable battery cords, and  adapters for multiple products, to name a few, abound.  In addition, old cords, like the red, white, and yellow AV cables and land line phone cords pushed out of the picture by newer models, still congregate and intermingle with the newer cords in case they may be needed for some unexplainable and futuristic reason.  At least, the extension cords have been forced to hang in the jungle of garage storage rather than inside the house.

Cord separation occurs soon after the cord arrival into a household.  At first, the separation is gentle, and each cord is placed nearby on a table or end stand.  Eventually, the cords take up valuable space so additional separation becomes mandatory, leaving the cord alone and forgotten. 

Usually, someone tosses these abandoned cords together in a container with other cords, all left to simmer in the dust that settles upon them.  The poor cords lose their identities.  No one knows what they used to be, nor for what they were intended.  “Does anyone know what this cord belongs to?”  No one in the house ever seems to know the answer to that question. 

 Sadly, someone finally relegates these forlorn cords to the dark, cavernous depths of the hall closet.  Their original purpose in life has long been forgotten.  They are wired, but they live in darkness.  Their only hope is someone will miss them and start searching through the bag in the hall closet before Spring Cleaning time when they are mulched in a garbage truck.  In the meantime, in the inky blackness of the closed closet, they make connections and multiply.  Some then make it back out to dusty corners and baskets to torture me by cluttering and clamoring for attention again.

It’s a cord conspiracy to tangle lives.