Smart phone, dumb owner
The thing about these smart phones is that they are, well, smarter than I am. Anytime that I need to do something with mine- download a song, get a newer version of the software, etc- my wife has to do it for me. I’m just too dumb, period.
And getting my wife to do things like that for me isn’t always easy, because she is a busy woman. She works a full time job, takes three kids to baseball and softball practice just about every day, helps with homework, cooks, cleans, and all of that.
Oh I help her with taking the kids to practice and stuff whenever I can, but mostly she just tells me to stay out of the way. She doesn’t even let me anywhere near the kids’ homework.
So anyway, my phone was giving me a little bit of trouble last week. The music player part wasn’t working, and that was driving me crazy. I depend on that thing a pretty good bit when I’m working, because it somehow helps keep me focused on what I’m doing. Without it I start daydreaming, or thinking too much, or something.
I finally got my wife to take a few minutes out of her busy schedule to help me out with the phone. I had already called the phone place, and they told me to plug it up to my computer and sync it with something, or download something, or something. I don’t know.
Well when she finally got to messing with the phone, it was about 11 p.m. Now, let me say something about my wife here. She might do a lot of things and stay pretty busy during the day, but once the sun goes down she’s done. I don’t believe she’s seen the clock turn midnight since we were dating.
So I knew I was taking a chance on her doing anything to my phone that late at night, but I was in a Catch-22. If I let her mess with it, I was risking the life of my phone. But if I pointed out to her that she doesn’t do well that late at night, I was risking my own life. And, she would never help me with my phone again. And, my music player still wouldn’t work. So I bit my tongue and let her work.
Sure enough, a few minutes later she came and told me that not only did the music player work, but she had also lost all of my applications and my contacts.
“Let me get this straight,” I told her. “You are saying that a few minutes ago I had a whole bunch of phone numbers in my phone, and now I have zero. Is that about right?”
“Yes, I’m sorry” she said- while she yawned. “I’ll mess with it again when I can. If nothing else, you can copy them from my phone.”
The problem with that logic (I thought to myself but didn’t have the guts to tell her) is that I couldn’t care less if I lost Aunt Whatever or Cousin What’s His Name’s number. She has probably 50 family and friends on her phone. I’ve got like three family members and friends, total. I can fit their numbers on the palm of my hand if I have to. What I have in my phone- or, what I had in there before Sleeping Beauty got hold of it, was about 200 contacts.
Real people’s numbers. People that I need to talk to about work, or sports, or something important. Not what kind of casserole we are bringing to a dadgum birthday party. So no, sweetie, I don’t think I can copy the numbers from your phone.
Like I said, though, I didn’t really tell her that. My phone can’t wash my clothes or cook me dinner.
The next day I took my phone to the phone store and got a new one. I explained to the guy what happened, what my wife did, and so on. He wrote down what all I should do and sure enough, when I got home I plugged in my phone and got all my contacts back.
Even Aunt Whatever and Cousin What’s His Name.
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Go to http://robconews.com/ or http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment or suggestion.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Letter to My Children
Dear Kids,
Your old man isn’t a very emotional guy. Other than Hall of Fame speeches, Barry White songs, and the scene where Gus dies in “Lonesome Dove”, nothing much gets to me. In fact, the older I get the more I realize that emotions usually get in the way of making sound decisions in life.
But I have to admit, this past Saturday tugged at the ol’ heart strings a little bit. Seeing all three of you playing sports made your mother and I so proud. Girls, we are used to seeing your brother play, but we are so happy that you two decided to play this year, too.
You see, the thing about sports is that they are such a great metaphore for life- you get out whatever you put in. Hard work and brains will usually pay off, and laziness and ignorance hardly ever will.
I want to say a little something to all three of you, but I don’t want to use your names. Right now it’s cool for you to read your name in the paper, but I have a feeling that when you are teenagers you won’t be so happy about it.
To my oldest daughter- You were the one that I pushed the hardest to play, and the one that I worried most about. I want you to pay attention and realize how much fun you are having, and how good it feels to compete at something. You are doing so well for it to only be your first year of playing. Keep working hard, listen to your coaches, and above all else, stay positive.
Oh and by the way, try to pay more attention to what is happening on the field. I promise you, you aren’t missing anything out here in the stands. And if you do, your mom will fill you in on all the gossip after the game.
To my youngest daughter- I knew sports would be right up your alley. You have the heart, aggressiveness, and mindset to be good at anything you do. You aren’t scared to step up to the plate and swing away, and I want you to live your whole life that way.
Right now you are swinging at pitches that are over your head, or on the ground, or even behind you. That’s okay. We can always teach you to scale back and be more selective. Just stay aggressive.
And that brings me to my son. You have always been a good kid. You are always so laid back, and never get in much trouble. But that might actually work against you in sports. You have to remember not to be so timid when you play.
Yes, you’re going to strike out every now and then. The best hitters in baseball only get on base three out of ten times. You might even hit into a double play once in a while. We can live with that, though. The most important thing is that if you do strike out, you strike out swinging.
We’ve worked hard on your swing, and it’s a good one. In fact, you work on it every night. Learn to trust it, and trust yourself. Swing the bat, son. In baseball, in life, in whatever you do- swing the bat.
I’m proud of you kids.
Love,
Dad
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Go to http://robconews.com/ or http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment or suggestion.
Dear Kids,
Your old man isn’t a very emotional guy. Other than Hall of Fame speeches, Barry White songs, and the scene where Gus dies in “Lonesome Dove”, nothing much gets to me. In fact, the older I get the more I realize that emotions usually get in the way of making sound decisions in life.
But I have to admit, this past Saturday tugged at the ol’ heart strings a little bit. Seeing all three of you playing sports made your mother and I so proud. Girls, we are used to seeing your brother play, but we are so happy that you two decided to play this year, too.
You see, the thing about sports is that they are such a great metaphore for life- you get out whatever you put in. Hard work and brains will usually pay off, and laziness and ignorance hardly ever will.
I want to say a little something to all three of you, but I don’t want to use your names. Right now it’s cool for you to read your name in the paper, but I have a feeling that when you are teenagers you won’t be so happy about it.
To my oldest daughter- You were the one that I pushed the hardest to play, and the one that I worried most about. I want you to pay attention and realize how much fun you are having, and how good it feels to compete at something. You are doing so well for it to only be your first year of playing. Keep working hard, listen to your coaches, and above all else, stay positive.
Oh and by the way, try to pay more attention to what is happening on the field. I promise you, you aren’t missing anything out here in the stands. And if you do, your mom will fill you in on all the gossip after the game.
To my youngest daughter- I knew sports would be right up your alley. You have the heart, aggressiveness, and mindset to be good at anything you do. You aren’t scared to step up to the plate and swing away, and I want you to live your whole life that way.
Right now you are swinging at pitches that are over your head, or on the ground, or even behind you. That’s okay. We can always teach you to scale back and be more selective. Just stay aggressive.
And that brings me to my son. You have always been a good kid. You are always so laid back, and never get in much trouble. But that might actually work against you in sports. You have to remember not to be so timid when you play.
Yes, you’re going to strike out every now and then. The best hitters in baseball only get on base three out of ten times. You might even hit into a double play once in a while. We can live with that, though. The most important thing is that if you do strike out, you strike out swinging.
We’ve worked hard on your swing, and it’s a good one. In fact, you work on it every night. Learn to trust it, and trust yourself. Swing the bat, son. In baseball, in life, in whatever you do- swing the bat.
I’m proud of you kids.
Love,
Dad
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Go to http://robconews.com/ or http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment or suggestion.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Hush, just for a second
I’ve been training this young kid at my job.
Well, I guess I shouldn’t call him a kid, he’s 25 years old. But when you are my age, anyone who doesn’t know who shot J.R. is considered a kid.
One of the things that I love about my job is that I usually work by myself. I don’t like anyone working with me. Or riding with me. Or talking to me during the day, really.
You see, I’ve got a certain way that I go about my job. There is usually a good bit of driving involved, so I listen to the radio a lot. And mostly, talk radio.
Until 9 a.m. , I listen to ESPN radio. After that, until 1 p.m. , I listen to more ESPN radio. From 1-5 p.m. I listen to political and news talk, and if I’m still in the truck after 5:00 there are these two guys that have a show just dedicated to guy talk.
But here’s the problem- this kid wants to yap, and yap, and yap. If he’s not telling me about his wife and son, he’s telling me about shark fishing on the coast. If it’s not that, it’s something else.
The thing about listening to talk radio is that you have to do just that; listen. You can’t be talking the whole time like you can while you listen to music. If a song comes on that you’ve heard a hundred times, it’s not big deal to talk through it or turn the radio down. Chances are, you’ll hear it again the next hour.
With talk radio, you only get one chance to hear what they have to say, so I need silence. Not with this cat, though. Silence must be the only word that isn’t in his vocabulary.
And he commits one of my worst pet-peeves almost daily. He talks on the phone loud enough for everyone within earshot to hear everything that he says. We’ve all been at a restaurant next to a table where someone is doing this, haven’t we? Not only do they force you to hear their voice, but they suck you into the conversation enough that you can pretty much tell what the party on the other line is saying, too. So now you are invested in a conversation that you didn’t care about in the first place.
All the talking is rough, but I can overlook it for another week or so. What happened Monday, though, cannot be so easily brushed off.
We were working in San Antonio , and it was about time for lunch. I told him that I knew this perfect little hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant, where the food was spicy and the prices were cheap.
“Ahh man,” he whined. “That barbecue stand down the street has been smelling good all morning, and I had my heart set on it. Do you mind if we grab something from there?”
Ah-yah-yah. Who goes to San Antonio and doesn’t want to eat Mexican food? That’s like flying to Italy and ordering a burger, or driving to New Orleans for a taco. You’ve got some of the best Mexican food in the state right at your fingertips, and you want to munch on dried up sausage? And anyway, I’ve already got my favorite barbecue place. After you’ve eaten at Toodie’s right here in Hearne , Texas , everything else pretty much falls short.
But my wife has been telling me for two weeks to be nice to this kid, so I gave in. I stomached the pork ribs, sawed my way through the brisket, and fought my way around the iced tea that came already heavily lemoned. I hate lemon in my tea.
Things could get worse later on this week, because we’ll be rooming together a few nights out on the road.
I’m telling you right now, people- if he snores, he’s outta there.
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Contact Shannon at http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ or http://robconews.com/ and leave a comment.
I’ve been training this young kid at my job.
Well, I guess I shouldn’t call him a kid, he’s 25 years old. But when you are my age, anyone who doesn’t know who shot J.R. is considered a kid.
One of the things that I love about my job is that I usually work by myself. I don’t like anyone working with me. Or riding with me. Or talking to me during the day, really.
You see, I’ve got a certain way that I go about my job. There is usually a good bit of driving involved, so I listen to the radio a lot. And mostly, talk radio.
Until 9 a.m. , I listen to ESPN radio. After that, until 1 p.m. , I listen to more ESPN radio. From 1-5 p.m. I listen to political and news talk, and if I’m still in the truck after 5:00 there are these two guys that have a show just dedicated to guy talk.
But here’s the problem- this kid wants to yap, and yap, and yap. If he’s not telling me about his wife and son, he’s telling me about shark fishing on the coast. If it’s not that, it’s something else.
The thing about listening to talk radio is that you have to do just that; listen. You can’t be talking the whole time like you can while you listen to music. If a song comes on that you’ve heard a hundred times, it’s not big deal to talk through it or turn the radio down. Chances are, you’ll hear it again the next hour.
With talk radio, you only get one chance to hear what they have to say, so I need silence. Not with this cat, though. Silence must be the only word that isn’t in his vocabulary.
And he commits one of my worst pet-peeves almost daily. He talks on the phone loud enough for everyone within earshot to hear everything that he says. We’ve all been at a restaurant next to a table where someone is doing this, haven’t we? Not only do they force you to hear their voice, but they suck you into the conversation enough that you can pretty much tell what the party on the other line is saying, too. So now you are invested in a conversation that you didn’t care about in the first place.
All the talking is rough, but I can overlook it for another week or so. What happened Monday, though, cannot be so easily brushed off.
We were working in San Antonio , and it was about time for lunch. I told him that I knew this perfect little hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant, where the food was spicy and the prices were cheap.
“Ahh man,” he whined. “That barbecue stand down the street has been smelling good all morning, and I had my heart set on it. Do you mind if we grab something from there?”
Ah-yah-yah. Who goes to San Antonio and doesn’t want to eat Mexican food? That’s like flying to Italy and ordering a burger, or driving to New Orleans for a taco. You’ve got some of the best Mexican food in the state right at your fingertips, and you want to munch on dried up sausage? And anyway, I’ve already got my favorite barbecue place. After you’ve eaten at Toodie’s right here in Hearne , Texas , everything else pretty much falls short.
But my wife has been telling me for two weeks to be nice to this kid, so I gave in. I stomached the pork ribs, sawed my way through the brisket, and fought my way around the iced tea that came already heavily lemoned. I hate lemon in my tea.
Things could get worse later on this week, because we’ll be rooming together a few nights out on the road.
I’m telling you right now, people- if he snores, he’s outta there.
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Contact Shannon at http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ or http://robconews.com/ and leave a comment.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)