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Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
a personal technology question
tech·nol·o·gy
1.
the branch of knowledge that deals with the creation and use of technical means and their interrelation with life, society, and the environment, drawing upon such subjects as industrial arts, engineering, applied science, and pure science.
technology. (n.d.). Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Retrieved October 08, 2008, from Dictionary.com website: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/technology
OK, now that we know what technology really means, here's my question.
On my front porch this afternoon stood a tall carton, 50+ pounds of content, a white toddler sleigh bed with drawer from Dream on Me, Inc. Unassembled, of course . . . Are the simple tools I'll use to assemble the bed (and to disassemble the crib and mobile and . . .) this weekend still considered technology?
One more turn in the road of life . . . and decidedly a personal one. . .
1.
the branch of knowledge that deals with the creation and use of technical means and their interrelation with life, society, and the environment, drawing upon such subjects as industrial arts, engineering, applied science, and pure science.
technology. (n.d.). Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Retrieved October 08, 2008, from Dictionary.com website: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/technology
OK, now that we know what technology really means, here's my question.
On my front porch this afternoon stood a tall carton, 50+ pounds of content, a white toddler sleigh bed with drawer from Dream on Me, Inc. Unassembled, of course . . . Are the simple tools I'll use to assemble the bed (and to disassemble the crib and mobile and . . .) this weekend still considered technology?
One more turn in the road of life . . . and decidedly a personal one. . .
footnote from Christmas 2008: a bed for Cassie
Saturday, October 4, 2008
personal technology: the phone
The phone is my technological weak link. I love, love, love connecting via email (maybe because writing is my therapy of choice) but seem unable to cultivate a dependency on the extra ear appendage . . . Friends, colleagues, family--all know that to leave voicemail on my cell means I may get it a week or two later. Voicemail on the unlisted landline? I do honestly mean to check that daily but slip up at times there too. And don't you call me at work! Blinking message lights are in my blind spot somehow . . . Even my car has its own hands-free number now, but do you think I give that information out? I think I emailed the number to family members but they, above all others, know that I don't drive and talk!
About six months ago, I came home to a line in use message on my answering machine. Now, honestly, who would be using my line when no one was home? Every line in the house was DOA. I faithfully followed the disconnect/reconnect advice to no avail. Then, magically, just before bedtime, a dial tone . . . The next morning, of course, the technician came out, checked the line outside, and said NOT US!!! and that problem I'd had must be interference somewhere inside the house . . . As if I haven't paid for years and years for that to be their problem too . . .
That was the first time, repeated at least half a dozen times, same scenario. My son-in-law said it sounded as though there was a short in the line outside somewhere. I finally figured out how to talk to a real person in this automated scheduling world. If you call in a repair request and then call back immediately to check on the status of that repair request, guess what??? The lady I spoke to a couple of weeks was helpful. She suggested I use the outside jack to check the line while the dial tone was still AWOL. I did. No dial tone. She agreed the problem must be external and said this would be handled the next day--when I received yet another of those calls that said NOT US!!! and that problem I'd had must be interference somewhere inside the house . . .
When it happened again on Monday (what did we ever do before cell phones?), I decided that being nice (I usually am) wasn't working. I threatened, after doing the talk-to-a-real-person number, to cut the landline cord. Ditch the service. (As if I would when my home alarm system--yet another personal technology story--depends on that . . .) Three messages on my cell phone when I checked it this morning (five days later). The first two said NOT US!!! and that problem I'd had must be interference somewhere inside the house . . . The third said . . .
We found the problem.
We fixed it.
which is webdings for
we found the problem,
and we fixed it!
About six months ago, I came home to a line in use message on my answering machine. Now, honestly, who would be using my line when no one was home? Every line in the house was DOA. I faithfully followed the disconnect/reconnect advice to no avail. Then, magically, just before bedtime, a dial tone . . . The next morning, of course, the technician came out, checked the line outside, and said NOT US!!! and that problem I'd had must be interference somewhere inside the house . . . As if I haven't paid for years and years for that to be their problem too . . .
That was the first time, repeated at least half a dozen times, same scenario. My son-in-law said it sounded as though there was a short in the line outside somewhere. I finally figured out how to talk to a real person in this automated scheduling world. If you call in a repair request and then call back immediately to check on the status of that repair request, guess what??? The lady I spoke to a couple of weeks was helpful. She suggested I use the outside jack to check the line while the dial tone was still AWOL. I did. No dial tone. She agreed the problem must be external and said this would be handled the next day--when I received yet another of those calls that said NOT US!!! and that problem I'd had must be interference somewhere inside the house . . .
When it happened again on Monday (what did we ever do before cell phones?), I decided that being nice (I usually am) wasn't working. I threatened, after doing the talk-to-a-real-person number, to cut the landline cord. Ditch the service. (As if I would when my home alarm system--yet another personal technology story--depends on that . . .) Three messages on my cell phone when I checked it this morning (five days later). The first two said NOT US!!! and that problem I'd had must be interference somewhere inside the house . . . The third said . . .
We found the problem.
We fixed it.
which is webdings for
we found the problem,
and we fixed it!
Friday, October 3, 2008
what became of the inquiry
I didn't know what I didn't know.
It's that simple.
I figure it will take this year and more to bring my 1980s-90s digital settler self into the 21st century.
So I exchanged my public inquiry focus to something I can do, in part, in my sleep: the impact of summer reading and, the flip side, what impacts the summer reading experience.
My inquiry into digeracy (I want to be one of the digerati in my next life)--newly freed of APA-formatted review of the literature due in December and planning the study (due in writing in April, presented in May) before embarking on the quest (like when have I ever done anything in someone else's prescribed sequence?)--has taken on a life of its own! Co-teaching a technology course (what a wonderfully inquiring group of adult learners this class is!) has given me the purpose I needed (and the excuse) to delve into new technologies I could only namedrop a few weeks ago.
So I may blog about those experiences here--and the professional readings (yes, I'm doing that with a passion) too. A travel log of sorts . . .
This week's celebration . . . Did you know that PowerPoint presentations can be saved as a series of pictures? Which means digital story telling (mastering [I thought] Photo Story was last year's triumph ) can indeed require some digital story reading ;-) Can't wait to play with that!
More to come . . .
It's that simple.
I figure it will take this year and more to bring my 1980s-90s digital settler self into the 21st century.
So I exchanged my public inquiry focus to something I can do, in part, in my sleep: the impact of summer reading and, the flip side, what impacts the summer reading experience.
My inquiry into digeracy (I want to be one of the digerati in my next life)--newly freed of APA-formatted review of the literature due in December and planning the study (due in writing in April, presented in May) before embarking on the quest (like when have I ever done anything in someone else's prescribed sequence?)--has taken on a life of its own! Co-teaching a technology course (what a wonderfully inquiring group of adult learners this class is!) has given me the purpose I needed (and the excuse) to delve into new technologies I could only namedrop a few weeks ago.
So I may blog about those experiences here--and the professional readings (yes, I'm doing that with a passion) too. A travel log of sorts . . .
This week's celebration . . . Did you know that PowerPoint presentations can be saved as a series of pictures? Which means digital story telling (mastering [I thought] Photo Story was last year's triumph ) can indeed require some digital story reading ;-) Can't wait to play with that!
More to come . . .
personal technology update 1: the car
I finally did use that rear window wiper one dewy morning last week--without reverting to the print manual. Just punched a button with a promising symbol and got lucky! But it's the old technology that has me puzzled.
Thanks to emerging technologies, I get car diagnostics via email every month. Each month, noticing the tires had lost yet another psi, I've resolved to find or buy a tire gauge and maybe replace my ancient tire pump.
A couple of weeks ago, one of those dashboard lights came on and stayed on for a while before giving up on my paying appropriate attention. I was paying attention. After two days in the depths of the manual, I learned the universal (?) symbol for low tire pressure--which I will remember more for its location on the dash of this car than I will for its shape (so much for the universal concept :-/ ).
Last weekend my son, with his also ancient pump (but it did have a gauge!), helped me get the tires back up to standard--or so we thought. The monthly diagnostics, received on a Thursday, look not unlike last Saturday's readings. Delayed email? Leaky valve stems?
So I've done some upgrading. Tomorrow my 3K-miles-driven all-but-new car goes in for its first factory recall service--a possible power steering fluid leak which would, by the way, explain the way it complains when I back out of the driveway and head out in the mornings . . . With the price of gas, there's much to be said for one-stop shopping. I added getting the tires checked out to my personal technology recall list for tomorrow. I scheduled both appointments online . . .
BTW, I do now own a high-tech tire gauge that can be programmed to remember different settings for front and rear tires--serious technological overkill since 30 psi all around is easy enough for my brain to hold onto for now (kind of like the home thermostat I've never programmed beyond the 68-degree heating and 78-degree cooling absolutes). The new pump--a leaner and meaner version (but hopefully with some ooomph!)--also has a gauge. Both tire gauge and pump are still in the box/shrinkwrap/house . . .
Guess I should be grateful for the 3-month break from automotive repair waiting rooms. . . This one has popcorn (can't eat any until my current dental adventure is finished [hoping for Thanksgiving . . .]) and wi-fi (but I'm opting to spend my time with something of substance, of paper and ink).
In some, maybe many, ways, I'm a digital settler. It's good for the resume, for job security, for exercising the brain. But on my own time? Very much the immigrant, delighting in my native language and culture in the quiet spaces I call home.
Thanks to emerging technologies, I get car diagnostics via email every month. Each month, noticing the tires had lost yet another psi, I've resolved to find or buy a tire gauge and maybe replace my ancient tire pump.
A couple of weeks ago, one of those dashboard lights came on and stayed on for a while before giving up on my paying appropriate attention. I was paying attention. After two days in the depths of the manual, I learned the universal (?) symbol for low tire pressure--which I will remember more for its location on the dash of this car than I will for its shape (so much for the universal concept :-/ ).
Last weekend my son, with his also ancient pump (but it did have a gauge!), helped me get the tires back up to standard--or so we thought. The monthly diagnostics, received on a Thursday, look not unlike last Saturday's readings. Delayed email? Leaky valve stems?
So I've done some upgrading. Tomorrow my 3K-miles-driven all-but-new car goes in for its first factory recall service--a possible power steering fluid leak which would, by the way, explain the way it complains when I back out of the driveway and head out in the mornings . . . With the price of gas, there's much to be said for one-stop shopping. I added getting the tires checked out to my personal technology recall list for tomorrow. I scheduled both appointments online . . .
BTW, I do now own a high-tech tire gauge that can be programmed to remember different settings for front and rear tires--serious technological overkill since 30 psi all around is easy enough for my brain to hold onto for now (kind of like the home thermostat I've never programmed beyond the 68-degree heating and 78-degree cooling absolutes). The new pump--a leaner and meaner version (but hopefully with some ooomph!)--also has a gauge. Both tire gauge and pump are still in the box/shrinkwrap/house . . .
Guess I should be grateful for the 3-month break from automotive repair waiting rooms. . . This one has popcorn (can't eat any until my current dental adventure is finished [hoping for Thanksgiving . . .]) and wi-fi (but I'm opting to spend my time with something of substance, of paper and ink).
In some, maybe many, ways, I'm a digital settler. It's good for the resume, for job security, for exercising the brain. But on my own time? Very much the immigrant, delighting in my native language and culture in the quiet spaces I call home.
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