Not too many years ago, the very best scientists thought that scrambling the brain matter of mentally challenged folks with the equivalent of a knitting needle was a fine idea. Some of these “mentally challenged” folks were not challenged at all. They were just annoying. Didn’t matter. Scramble. Scramble. Scramble.
Having read a little bit about the lobotomy years, I remain somewhat skeptical of the “no problem-easy-peasy” claims of the scientific community. I’m also wary of knitting needles.
Computers are, quite possibly, the lobotomizing knitting needles of our time.
I write books—all kinds, all genres. I am a self-published author mainly because I did NOT have an affair with anyone of fame or fortune and then write a tell-all about it, thus guaranteeing me a fifty thousand minimum advanced sales number. After reading that last sentence I realize I should clarify. I’ve never had an affair—period, at all, ever. It’s the literary equivalent of having had a lobotomy.
Computers. They be dumb.
My new book BEYOND THE STRANDLINE went live last night on Amazon. A couple of people found out and started posting reviews (which is WAY COOL) and then one or two others saw the early reviews and wondered if they should post reviews even though I said that Wednesday is launch day, but now it’s NOT so I decided to send out reminder emails to my advanced copy readers a little early.
There are a lot of email reminders to send.
“Easy. Peasy,” said my computer savvy family. “Any monkey with a lobotomy can do it.”
Sure. Sure. I thought.
Turns out . . . it’s a pain in the brain.
“Won’t there be too many?” I queried, as I tried to figure out emailing more than one cuddle bunny friend at a time.
“Clop,” said my computer-loving husband. He may have said nope. Hard to tell when his head is covered with earphones, microphones, and wires.
Slowly, painfully I pasted, copied, clicked, closed, and opened. Nothing worked. He rolled toward me in his roller chair to demonstrate more pasting, coping, clicking, closing, and opening.
Finally, he turned to me and stated flatly, “See?”
He said, “See?” again and louder, with a hint of impatient frustration.
I felt like a monkey with a lobotomy.
For two hours I stabbed and pounded at the keys, trying to do as he did.
I clicked SEND.
A message blared back at me: TOO MANY MAIL RECIPIENTS. FAILURE IS INEVITABLE. GIVE UP. GO AWAY. YOU BE DUMB.
My husband rolled at me in his roller chair again. He cut, pasted, shifted, farted, clicked, and Google searched and finally SENT.
If I had to repeat what he did . . . well . . . let’s just say that science be fine when it works, but when it doesn’t and you have to have a degree in Robot Vision to figure out what’s what you might as well take up knitting.
Linda (Stamp Licker) Zern