I had just about reached my limit. That moment when I realized I had wasted enough of my time — my life! — staring at the computer screen while clicking on an endless supply of political ramblings, soccer recaps and advice columns about getting really rich while only raising two fingers. “Go do something productive!” I commanded myself. And I was just about to … when I saw the story headlined, “Luke Skywalker learned Jedi secrets while watching Youtube.” Oh, I’ve got to click on that! It was then that I realized I had a problem. That my whole family has a problem. Like millions of Americans, we’re hooked on screens. They’re everywhere in the house, and worse, we’re bound to them like umbilical chords. Unable to function, think or cope without them. “How are you feeling today?” “Hmm. I don’t know. Let me Google it.” Which is why I think we need to break away. Free ourselves from the screens. So I have come up with a 5-step family cleanse to help us do it. We will shatter our reliance on the almighty screen and here’s how:
Big technology dreams for the future
What do kids dream about now? Like big future things. Things that make them sigh in bed at night and say to themselves, “If only I had a plutonium-powered homework eraser! That would do the trick.” I was thinking about this as I was buying a running hydration belt that would also carry my iPhone. (Hydration belt is code for “goofy runner gets parched and needs mini-canteens on his waist.”) Anyway, the belt needs to carry my iPhone so it will connect to my new heart rate monitor. That way I can see if my heart is still beating after I try to drink water on a long run and crash into a tree … or maybe a moving car. Anyway, it occurred to me that all the little things that I dreamed about as a kid – super-techy watches that know your location, communicators like on “Star Trek,” devices that allow video calls, little electronic pads that tell you everything you ever wanted to know, including your vital signs – are now reality. Commonplace. They’re here and we have them and even take them for granted.
The confounding cable upgrade call
The actual recorded transcript as I called the cable company, desperately trying to learn more about bundling my services, saving money and watching the Tour de France guilt-free: Rep: Good afternoon. This is so-and-so cable company. How can I help you today? Me: Yes, thank you. I’m calling because I like money and want to save some with these great deals and services I’ve been reading about. Can you help me with that? Rep: Most definitely, sir. Let me run through some of the many choices we are currently offering. Let’s see … we have a DVR special that comes with two toppings and a side of marinara … hold on. Wrong special. OK, here we go. Our top package comes with 800 channels, 792 of which you will never watch, plus a DVR that can record 87 shows simultaneously. But don’t worry: You don’t have to watch any of those, either. Me: OK … um … what else does it come with? Rep: Let’s see. It says here you are eligible for our new Super Extreme WIFI modem. What makes it “super” and “extreme,” you ask? The fact that we named it that. Plus, it is so powerful, you can communicate with the probe Juno, currently orbiting Jupiter.
Mining for Minecraft Mods
Excuse me if I seem a little tired. I was up late again last night, desperately trying to load a new Mod into Minecraft. What’s a “Mod?” Well, I’m glad you asked … because I have no earthly idea. Could stand for “modification.” Possibly. Or “my obedient dad,” as in, “My obedient dad is going to stay up all night pulling his hair out while trying to load this thing onto my computer game.” It’s anyone’s guess. My daughter has become a maniac for Minecraft, that video game that lets players construct whole worlds and travel through them while whaw, whaw-whaw, whaw, whaw. (I don’t actually know what Minecraft is all about, as I tend to tune out when she explains it.) What I do know is that everything looks like it’s made of square blocks — the land, the people, the animals, the buildings. “Oh, look how cute,” my daughter will say. “It’s an ant!” I strain my pixel-challenged eyes and say: “No, it isn’t! It’s six black squares walking around. These graphics are terrible!”
Alexa, and the high-tech, low-tech collision
“Alexa, play ‘Party Rock’ please,” said my daughter. Immediately the little black cylinder on the breakfast bar lit up in blue and started emitting — or spitting … The song sounds like drunken cats mewing — music into my living room. This is the future. Our voice-activated devices do what we want. Our houses are automated and our revolutionary machines are at our every beck and call. They do fantastic, incredible things … like repeat the “Party Rock Anthem” over and over until my brain becomes tapioca pudding. High tech. It was followed by me yelling over the surging music and frantic dancing: “Hey y’all, I’m gonna’ go outside and set some rat traps in the chicken run.” I was transported from the future to 1886. The voice-activated, revolutionary device snickered at me. I was about to use something that doesn’t listen, even though I begged it not to snap my finger off. I baited it with chicken kibble and ran screaming for the door. Low tech. This is my life. Where high tech and low tech collide. Future-man and old timey farmhand rolled into one. How did it come to this? The little black cylinder arrived for Christmas. It’s an Amazon Echo that goes by the name “Alexa.” Part music player, part personal assistant, she will tell jokes when you ask her, give the weather, advise on stock picks, predict presidential elections and pretty much mishear everything I say. “Alexa, please play traditional jazz,” I tell her. She replies, “Playing classic […]
Old world technology meet new world technology
It sits there on my desk — like a beached whale. The world’s biggest business checkbook. Must be at least 8 feet long, and its faux-leather hides the fact that it is really a stone tablet. To lift it, I need a forklift. To use it, I need a lobotomy. My new world brain struggles with old world accounting. “Can’t we just pay bills online like normal people?” I ask my mother. No … I plead. I sound like a 5-year-old who wants a piece of candy. “PLEASE!!!” “No,” I’m told. “There’s something not quite right about paying bills that way.” And I get the idea she can’t quite figure out what is not right, but that it must involve a banking conspiracy, or the mafia, or a possible alien invasion.
The remote control infestation
The look on my wife’s face was one of disbelief. Not anger. Not disgust. But quiet, solemn, exasperated resignation. Like she knew her husband had a problem — maybe even an addiction! — and wasn’t sure how to approach it. How could this be? “I know,” I said, “but it’s just one more.” There were five remote controls laid out on the coffee table in the living room. Two of them had joined our family in the last week. TWO! “So, what does that one do?” she asked, pointing to the newest addition. “That one?” I said. “Oh, that one controls this so we can use that.”
Light bulb insanity
It was sad. Almost pathetic. There I stood in the light bulb aisle of the hardware store. An entire aisle of insanity stared down at me. Laughing at me. Taunting me. “Hahaha. Whatcha’ gonna’ pick, silly man?” I didn’t know. I was a humbled doofus. A HUMBLED doofus! I had hit rock bottom. The only thing that made me feel any better were the two guys standing there with me. One was growing visibly frustrated. Like he might start throwing bulbs. “Halogen!” he mumbled to himself. “No, no, no. I don’t want halogen!” I gave him a sympathetic look. I was in my own miserable state. In my hand I held two different compact fluorescent lights, those funny shaped bulbs that look like strands of DNA with their coiling white glass. It seemed simple enough to go into the store and pick replacements. But I quickly realized that lighting is now a brave new frontier. Lower energy bills have come at a price: massive confusion. Furious frustration. Partial insanity. Why? So many options. So many variations. So many bulb sizes. Wattages that don’t mean what they used to mean. The new measurement is “lumens.” Lumens?!? I thought you ate lumens to lower your cholesterol. There were various shapes, codes and colors. I think there were scented light bulbs, and one that scolded you if you didn’t turn it off — “You just wasted 13 cents!” I had to remind myself that I’m all for this. That the old timey light […]