Giving In To Google

I am not technologically savvy.

That is a gross understatment. I have, however, found a way to co-exist with technology. Or so I thought.

Until now.

Google and I have been involved in an escalation of hostilities that has me reaching for a white flag of surrender. I'm not sure who started it (Google did), but my own hubris (totally Google's fault) may have played a part.

I recently started using Google Docs and Gmail more and I thought we were getting along pretty well-ish. Life was good-ish. We were happy-ish.

My only problem was that I couldn't access my Gmail from my cell phone. I could pull up the Gmail log-in screen on my browser (Google) and type in my password – luring me in with a false sense of progress – only to be crushed by the pulsing blue line of death.

Then I discovered the Gmail app for my android phone.

The clouds parted, the heavens opened, and a chorus of angels sang.

I downloaded and installed the app.

I logged in to one of my Gmail accounts.

Then I switched to another.

Then I tried to log out.

Then Gmail told me I needed a lock screen.

So I added a lock screen.

And I tried to log out.

But I had to log in before I could log out. And I couldn't log in because Gmail told me I needed to upgrade my program. But I couldn't upgrade because I needed to back up my information first but I didn't have room to back up anything because I needed an upgrade which could only happen if I logged out and I couldn't log out until I logged in and . . . .

So I uninstalled Gmail from my phone.

Except that I didn't.

And it kept reminding me that I needed to upgrade.

And back up.

And add a lock screen.

And log out.

So I re-installed, lock screened, logged in, logged out, uninstalled and unlocked.

And then my calendar was wiped clean.

As in, all past, present and future engagements were gone.

All of them.

Gone.

I can live without accessing Gmail from my phone. But my calendar? Most (all) of the time I can't remember what day of the week it is, let alone what I am supposed to be doing. Having an electronic calendar on my phone has been a life saver – especially since I figured out how to save appointments on it (usually).

I decided to try to access my Google account from my laptop to see if my calendar had been saved there.

Google told me I needed to add a new gmail to my account before I could do anything. But it can't be one of the FIVE gmail account names I already have (between part-time jobs and personal) because those are already taken. By me.

I lost my temper.

“Flock yourself, Google!” I said. Or something that sounded like that.

“I'm sorry. I wasn't listening. What would you like me to do?”

The Voice-Activated Google Assistant on my phone – the same VAGA that can't understand me when I am speaking Slow. Ly. And. Clear. Ly. And. Di. Rect. Ly into the microphone – suddenly decided to answer me from across the room.

I nearly wet my pants.

It's the computer-buddy equivalent of “would you like to step outside and settle this?”

Rather than risk having my phone open a can of whoop-ass on me, I've decided to spend the rest of the day trying to sort out my various Google accounts.

It's not like I have anything else to do.

I mean, my calendar is clear.

Requiem for a Laptop

Please join me in a moment of silence in memory of "Old Clunky," my beloved and belated laptop.

Ok, that's long enough.
It seems like only yesterday I was happily tap, tap tapping away at Clunky's keyboard when he started, well, clunking. But not when anyone else was around it hear it, of course. Clunky's clunking would immediately and miraculously disappear when I had my favorite IT guy and husband listen.
Eventually the clunking became both frequent and persistent enough to catch his attention. ("What the hell is that?") Irritating, but nothing to worry about, he assured me.
The sudden appearance of the blue screen of death? Unusual, but not fatal.
The switch to the boot up screen of no return, however, did catch his attention.
Plans were made -- hushed whispers, well out of range of Clunky. No need to add insult to injury when the patient is on (virtual) life support. After all, Clunky was considerate enough to let me finish and save projects before slipping into unconsciousness. For the most part.
Much too quickly Clunky's "spells" went from being a mere annoyance, to being a major pain the ass. One reason I can be a stay at home mom is that I can do all of my volunteer and "at home" work via computer. No computer, no volunteer work.
No e-mail, no patience.
No more Mrs. Nice Guy.
It was with heavy heart that I walked in the Best Buy that fateful Friday to find a replacement. How can you replace something that has been such an integral part of your life for lo, so many years?
No, really. How can you replace something that knows all your passwords and e-mail addresses an doesn't want to give them up? How can you replace something that knows all your documents and pictures? All your favorite programs that you have finally -- FINALLY -- figured out?
Yes, Slick, the new computer, runs faster (OMG, so much faster) and more reliably. And we (who am I kidding?), I mean, the IT guy was able to transfer all my old files. But the e-mails, bookmarks, and more importantly my passwords -- like for this blog! -- are somewhere in limbo between computers.
It is with heavy heart I embrace this new technology. The faster processor and slew of new games has made my computer the computer of choice by everyone else in the family. I have to wait in line to use my own computer. I frequently find my carefully searched out web sites abandoned, and my Mahjong games -- close enough to taste victory -- closed.
Don't even get me started on trying to figure out this new version (who knew?) of Spider Solitare. Open Office is nice, but it is so darned ... different!
My Cheese! Someone Moved My Cheese!
I am an Old Dog, being forced to learn new Programs. I am too lazy to learn new programs. To paraphrase Barbie, "Thinking is Hard."
Oh Clunky, how I miss you. And my passwords.
On the bright side, now I have a new excuse for those missed deadlines.