My next venture in muddling through the modern world is familiarizing myself with my new Toshiba laptop. It's fun and challenging trying something new like this. It's like stepping into a new world with all sorts of gizmos already on board. I'm sure I won't use most of them.
I've attached my wireless mouse and the manufacturer recommends creating a backup disc before doing too much more. I bought a new flash drive to do this and an easy transfer cable to move files from this old PC to that new one. Should be challenging.
I'm doing a little at a time. I get nervous with new things. I have to translate technical language into words that I can understand. Then I forge ahead.
When I do it right and get the result I’m looking for it's like hitting that perfect iron to the green. I can do that once in a while.
I like the screen (it's 17.3”) and the keyboard is comfortable. I can access the internet through my wireless modem. I'm still looking for the word processing feature that will let me write whatever and wherever I want.
This may very well be my last computer and I intend to make the most of it.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
Guest Columnist
Tonight's blog is brought to you courtesy of Frank Bruni, Op-Ed columnist for the New York Times. It appeared in yesterday's paper. Enjoy.
Sorry, Wrong In-Box
By FRANK BRUNI
The other night I did something silly. In a hurry to reach my friend K., I made the mistake of calling him on his mobile phone.
“You should have texted,” he chided me the next morning, when he finally heard the voice mail I’d left. “You know that’s the fastest way.”
It’s hard to keep track. Because my friend A., who frequently sends text messages, somehow fails to recognize that she might receive them as well and almost never checks. With her, I’m supposed to call.
But not with my friend D. Between his two mobile phones, two office phones and one home phone, you can never know which number to try, and he seems never to pick up, anyway. E-mail is his preference. He has three e-mail addresses, at least that I know about, but I’ve figured out the best one. I think.
You hear so much about how instantly reachable we all are, how hyperconnected, with our smartphones, laptops, tablets and such. But the maddening truth is that we’ve become so accessible we’re often inaccessible, the process of getting to any of us more tortured and tortuous than ever.
There are up to a dozen possible routes, and the direct one versus the scenic one versus the loop-de-loop versus the dead end changes from person to person. If you’re not dealing with your closest business associates or friends, whose territory and tics you’ve presumably learned, you’re lost.
There are some people partial to direct messages on Twitter and others oblivious to that corner of the Twitterverse. There are some who look at Facebook messages before anything else, and others whose Facebook accounts are idle, deceptive vestiges of a fleeting gregariousness that didn’t survive their boredom with Rebecca’s bread dough (“It isn’t rising! Tips?”) or Tim’s poison ivy (“Itching and itching! Remedies?”).
I know only a handful of people with just one e-mail address, but I know many with three or more, and not all of these people understand automatic forwarding. My friend M. was recently reacquainted with an in-box unattended for a year. It was stuffed with hundreds of unread messages — some, remarkably, from people flummoxed by her aloofness.
During a cyberbinge a few years back, I set up three new, uncoordinated e-mail accounts, though I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe I had some vague notion that I’d be a subtly different person with a subtly different life on each. In fact, I remained the same person with the same life on the same two e-mail accounts I was already using, and that person couldn’t remember the passwords or user names for the additional ones. My debit-card P.I.N. is challenge enough.
Recently, I missed an interview because I was 20 minutes late and the subject assumed I was a no-show. I’d been texting her about my delay because we’d communicated that way before. But it turns out that she has two mobile phones, and was monitoring the one whose number I didn’t know. Meanwhile, she was sending me e-mails, but it didn’t occur to me to look for those.
Speaking of interviews, Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York, arrived for one two years ago with four BlackBerrys. Maybe it was some elaborate anti-hacking system, a Murdoch Defense Shield.
Communication can become a multistep, multiplatform process. My friend J. and I like to talk on the phone, but only after she has sent me a gmail to propose a gchat, during which we determine if a call is actually warranted and whether I should use her home, mobile, main office or satellite office number. By the time voice meets voice, we’re spent. There’s a lot of heavy breathing; none of it the fun kind.
To her egalitarian credit, she gives out all of her contact information freely. Others use theirs to create castes of acquaintances: those with only an outer layer of business coordinates; those with “private e-mail” penetration; and those with the vaunted home phone. I’m no longer sure why I have a home phone, whose voice mail I neglect. A message from my friend L. languished there for two weeks. She really should have e-mailed.
Newly minted relationships come with operating instructions.
“Try his cell first, then shoot him an e-mail,” says a bigwig’s assistant. “Or circle back to me. Here’s my cell, and my e-mail, and ...” Contact information is now contact exegesis.
And contact itself is subject to infinite vagaries. An e-mail can go to spam. A call can bump up against a voice mailbox not taking new messages. Its owner, managing too many mailboxes, has let it fill.
My friend E. just texted, two days after my text. “Didn’t see it,” she reports. “On this new phone, I can’t figure anything out.”
In this new world, neither can I.
-0-
Thanks, Frank
Sorry, Wrong In-Box
By FRANK BRUNI
The other night I did something silly. In a hurry to reach my friend K., I made the mistake of calling him on his mobile phone.
“You should have texted,” he chided me the next morning, when he finally heard the voice mail I’d left. “You know that’s the fastest way.”
It’s hard to keep track. Because my friend A., who frequently sends text messages, somehow fails to recognize that she might receive them as well and almost never checks. With her, I’m supposed to call.
But not with my friend D. Between his two mobile phones, two office phones and one home phone, you can never know which number to try, and he seems never to pick up, anyway. E-mail is his preference. He has three e-mail addresses, at least that I know about, but I’ve figured out the best one. I think.
You hear so much about how instantly reachable we all are, how hyperconnected, with our smartphones, laptops, tablets and such. But the maddening truth is that we’ve become so accessible we’re often inaccessible, the process of getting to any of us more tortured and tortuous than ever.
There are up to a dozen possible routes, and the direct one versus the scenic one versus the loop-de-loop versus the dead end changes from person to person. If you’re not dealing with your closest business associates or friends, whose territory and tics you’ve presumably learned, you’re lost.
There are some people partial to direct messages on Twitter and others oblivious to that corner of the Twitterverse. There are some who look at Facebook messages before anything else, and others whose Facebook accounts are idle, deceptive vestiges of a fleeting gregariousness that didn’t survive their boredom with Rebecca’s bread dough (“It isn’t rising! Tips?”) or Tim’s poison ivy (“Itching and itching! Remedies?”).
I know only a handful of people with just one e-mail address, but I know many with three or more, and not all of these people understand automatic forwarding. My friend M. was recently reacquainted with an in-box unattended for a year. It was stuffed with hundreds of unread messages — some, remarkably, from people flummoxed by her aloofness.
During a cyberbinge a few years back, I set up three new, uncoordinated e-mail accounts, though I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe I had some vague notion that I’d be a subtly different person with a subtly different life on each. In fact, I remained the same person with the same life on the same two e-mail accounts I was already using, and that person couldn’t remember the passwords or user names for the additional ones. My debit-card P.I.N. is challenge enough.
Recently, I missed an interview because I was 20 minutes late and the subject assumed I was a no-show. I’d been texting her about my delay because we’d communicated that way before. But it turns out that she has two mobile phones, and was monitoring the one whose number I didn’t know. Meanwhile, she was sending me e-mails, but it didn’t occur to me to look for those.
Speaking of interviews, Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York, arrived for one two years ago with four BlackBerrys. Maybe it was some elaborate anti-hacking system, a Murdoch Defense Shield.
Communication can become a multistep, multiplatform process. My friend J. and I like to talk on the phone, but only after she has sent me a gmail to propose a gchat, during which we determine if a call is actually warranted and whether I should use her home, mobile, main office or satellite office number. By the time voice meets voice, we’re spent. There’s a lot of heavy breathing; none of it the fun kind.
To her egalitarian credit, she gives out all of her contact information freely. Others use theirs to create castes of acquaintances: those with only an outer layer of business coordinates; those with “private e-mail” penetration; and those with the vaunted home phone. I’m no longer sure why I have a home phone, whose voice mail I neglect. A message from my friend L. languished there for two weeks. She really should have e-mailed.
Newly minted relationships come with operating instructions.
“Try his cell first, then shoot him an e-mail,” says a bigwig’s assistant. “Or circle back to me. Here’s my cell, and my e-mail, and ...” Contact information is now contact exegesis.
And contact itself is subject to infinite vagaries. An e-mail can go to spam. A call can bump up against a voice mailbox not taking new messages. Its owner, managing too many mailboxes, has let it fill.
My friend E. just texted, two days after my text. “Didn’t see it,” she reports. “On this new phone, I can’t figure anything out.”
In this new world, neither can I.
-0-
Thanks, Frank
Thursday, September 1, 2011
The Word Book
I've never used a dictionary as much as I have since I started writing this blog. I like to use words correctly and sometimes I'm not sure. So out comes my Webster's New College Dictionary. How old fashioned is that!
I mention this because this morning's NYTimes Personal Tech section featured an article about software that can now put entire reference libraries on your smart phone. Since I don't have a smart phone and unlikely to get one soon, I treasure my dictionary no matter how old it is.
So here's the question posed in the article itself: “why would anyone need an app when nearly every bit of reference material is already available from a Mobile browser? ”
Mobile browser? I don't have one of those either. I browse right here on my PC and soon will be browsing with my new laptop, when I set it up. I seem to be falling further behind the technology curve and it doesn't bother me a bit.
I have my Webster's to keep me company.
I mention this because this morning's NYTimes Personal Tech section featured an article about software that can now put entire reference libraries on your smart phone. Since I don't have a smart phone and unlikely to get one soon, I treasure my dictionary no matter how old it is.
So here's the question posed in the article itself: “why would anyone need an app when nearly every bit of reference material is already available from a Mobile browser? ”
Mobile browser? I don't have one of those either. I browse right here on my PC and soon will be browsing with my new laptop, when I set it up. I seem to be falling further behind the technology curve and it doesn't bother me a bit.
I have my Webster's to keep me company.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Low Key Celebration
This is how people of a certain age and disposition celebrate a 59th wedding anniversary.
We took a morning walk in our park and saw how lucky it was to escape major damage from Irene. We lost one willow tree and the rest was small branches and stuff.
Disdaining our usual cereal-and-milk breakfast on this special day, we drove to “Toast,” a trendy breakfast-brunch-and-lunch establishment in nearby Montclair where we indulged in more esoteric fare. No details will be divulged.
Ventured westward in the afternoon to a Costco in East Hanover because our usual place in Wayne is under water. Bought a Toshiba laptop on sale but haven't opened it yet. Waiting for a day when I can give it my full attention. This is our anniversary present to ourselves. Inches us closer to modernity but in no hurry to get there.
My son sent two of his sons to our house later in the day to borrow our dehumidifier. I mentioned earlier that their Colts Neck home had significant water in the basement. Although they've removed the carpeting there is still a lot of moisture in the area. We hope a few days of dehumidifying will help.
Had a nice visit with the boys before they returned home. That was an added bonus to the day.
Returned to Montclair this evening where we dined at “Bistro 18.” Brought a bottle of champagne for the occasion and pretty much killed it. As we finished our dessert Gelato, George, the Proprietor, discreetly sent us a plate of cut fruit with a single lit candle to top off our celebratory dinner.
Nice day all around. A new day tomorrow.
We took a morning walk in our park and saw how lucky it was to escape major damage from Irene. We lost one willow tree and the rest was small branches and stuff.
Disdaining our usual cereal-and-milk breakfast on this special day, we drove to “Toast,” a trendy breakfast-brunch-and-lunch establishment in nearby Montclair where we indulged in more esoteric fare. No details will be divulged.
Ventured westward in the afternoon to a Costco in East Hanover because our usual place in Wayne is under water. Bought a Toshiba laptop on sale but haven't opened it yet. Waiting for a day when I can give it my full attention. This is our anniversary present to ourselves. Inches us closer to modernity but in no hurry to get there.
My son sent two of his sons to our house later in the day to borrow our dehumidifier. I mentioned earlier that their Colts Neck home had significant water in the basement. Although they've removed the carpeting there is still a lot of moisture in the area. We hope a few days of dehumidifying will help.
Had a nice visit with the boys before they returned home. That was an added bonus to the day.
Returned to Montclair this evening where we dined at “Bistro 18.” Brought a bottle of champagne for the occasion and pretty much killed it. As we finished our dessert Gelato, George, the Proprietor, discreetly sent us a plate of cut fruit with a single lit candle to top off our celebratory dinner.
Nice day all around. A new day tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Tonight and Tomorrow
Fifty-nine years ago tonight a 21-year-old Bronx boy sat in his parents' kitchen nursing a hot cup of tea laced with something significantly stronger. He had a bad cold and this was his mother's way of fixing him up quickly for tomorrow.
Tomorrow was his wedding day. You might think the cold was psychosomatic but who even knew what that word meant then. He wasn't particularly nervous. This day had been four years in the making.
It started on a July 4th weekend in Long Beach, N.Y. when he was introduced to the girl who he knew in an instant would be his wife. It proceeded through four (actually three-and-a-half) years of college and now here he was on the eve of becoming a married man.
He liked the idea then and he still likes it. So does the woman who has been his wife for 58 years and 364 days. In that time, our two sons have given us 12 grandchildren and three great-grandchildren with two more on the way.
We have much to celebrate but we'll do it quietly together, remembering the beginning and looking forward to the future.
Tomorrow is our 59th wedding anniversary.
Tomorrow was his wedding day. You might think the cold was psychosomatic but who even knew what that word meant then. He wasn't particularly nervous. This day had been four years in the making.
It started on a July 4th weekend in Long Beach, N.Y. when he was introduced to the girl who he knew in an instant would be his wife. It proceeded through four (actually three-and-a-half) years of college and now here he was on the eve of becoming a married man.
He liked the idea then and he still likes it. So does the woman who has been his wife for 58 years and 364 days. In that time, our two sons have given us 12 grandchildren and three great-grandchildren with two more on the way.
We have much to celebrate but we'll do it quietly together, remembering the beginning and looking forward to the future.
Tomorrow is our 59th wedding anniversary.
The Day After
Even the papers were noticing that some people wondered what all the fuss was about when Irene finally passed through the New York Metro area. Bottom line is that you just can't win.
If you over-prepare and damage is limited, you were crying wolf. If you short-changed the preparedness and got Katrina-like results you were lambasted. All things considered, I think we did well.
This was a beautiful day to clean up. We moved the larger downed limbs to the curb and filled two large leaf bags with the rest of the debris.
Across the street the cleanup was a major job. A neighbor's large tree fell early Sunday morning diagonally across his back yard. It crushed a segment of fence next door and crashed into a corner of the home there. One window was broken and the siding was dented. Fortunately no one was hurt in either house. The downed tree is being cut up into firewood and offered to anyone interested.
Other neighbors reported lesser damage and one took off for a brief vacation in Montauk.
Speaking of travel, we ventured out for the first time since Friday to do some shopping. We had to detour several times around closed streets to get to the store. (Good thing we knew the back roads.) We picked up some necessities and will return later in the week to fill in on items that weren't available because of disrupted deliveries.
While our little neighborhood got off relatively easy we know very well others did not. We wish them all the best.
Let's talk about something else tomorrow.
If you over-prepare and damage is limited, you were crying wolf. If you short-changed the preparedness and got Katrina-like results you were lambasted. All things considered, I think we did well.
This was a beautiful day to clean up. We moved the larger downed limbs to the curb and filled two large leaf bags with the rest of the debris.
Across the street the cleanup was a major job. A neighbor's large tree fell early Sunday morning diagonally across his back yard. It crushed a segment of fence next door and crashed into a corner of the home there. One window was broken and the siding was dented. Fortunately no one was hurt in either house. The downed tree is being cut up into firewood and offered to anyone interested.
Other neighbors reported lesser damage and one took off for a brief vacation in Montauk.
Speaking of travel, we ventured out for the first time since Friday to do some shopping. We had to detour several times around closed streets to get to the store. (Good thing we knew the back roads.) We picked up some necessities and will return later in the week to fill in on items that weren't available because of disrupted deliveries.
While our little neighborhood got off relatively easy we know very well others did not. We wish them all the best.
Let's talk about something else tomorrow.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Hello Irene, Goodbye Irene, Good Riddance!
By the time Irene got to our street she was a powerful tropical storm. It started raining about 11:30 a.m. Saturday and stopped before Noon Sunday. And did it come down.
We were very lucky we didn't lose power and had only a trickle of water in the basement. We didn't go out of the house all day so I don't know how many others fared. But friends down the block, who never had a sump pump, had six inches of water in their basement. They now have a sump pump.
My son, who lives in Monmouth County, does have a sump pump but since he and thousands of others were without power from early morning until late this evening he had a wet basement. It started draining late this evening when the power came back.
Neighbors across the street stacked a huge pile of downed limbs on their front lawn. They must have come from their back yard. The debris was picked up later by a wood-chipping truck.
The strange thing is that during the heaviest rains there was hardly any wind. But once it stopped raining very strong winds came up. We have several large trees in and around our back yard and it was nerve-racking to watch them swing and sway. We did have one limb come down in the back along with lots of leaves. The wind died down late this evening and we'll clean up the mess in the morning.
Having watched Hurricane and then Tropical Storm Irene batter the East Coast and cause untold damage throughout the area, we feel very fortunate to have escaped with nothing more than minor inconvenience.
We were very lucky we didn't lose power and had only a trickle of water in the basement. We didn't go out of the house all day so I don't know how many others fared. But friends down the block, who never had a sump pump, had six inches of water in their basement. They now have a sump pump.
My son, who lives in Monmouth County, does have a sump pump but since he and thousands of others were without power from early morning until late this evening he had a wet basement. It started draining late this evening when the power came back.
Neighbors across the street stacked a huge pile of downed limbs on their front lawn. They must have come from their back yard. The debris was picked up later by a wood-chipping truck.
The strange thing is that during the heaviest rains there was hardly any wind. But once it stopped raining very strong winds came up. We have several large trees in and around our back yard and it was nerve-racking to watch them swing and sway. We did have one limb come down in the back along with lots of leaves. The wind died down late this evening and we'll clean up the mess in the morning.
Having watched Hurricane and then Tropical Storm Irene batter the East Coast and cause untold damage throughout the area, we feel very fortunate to have escaped with nothing more than minor inconvenience.
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