----UPDATE---
Figured it out.. Serious feeling of dumbassness now.
Don't put yourself down. I get paid to work with thinkers of the future regarding electronic hardware, software, firmware, and what we call "human interfaces."
I feel fortunate that we can attract and hire the smartest people in the world. I get to work with PhDs in their 20s, to old fogies like me with relatively little education compared to the younger set, who come out of the top universities in the country. But us old "gray beards" have been bitten by so many problems over the decades, they think we are wise. To these young people, with 4-digit IQs, they think everybody should be able to think like them. Their eyesight allows them to see what anybody over 40 needs a microscope to see.
They drive way too much technology -- they figure I kill way too much technology.
Every time I upgrade my telephone, or whatever it is now called, I hate it more.
My current "phone" has so many features, it outsmarts me several times a day. I hate the damn thing. All I want to do is make and answer calls -- although I do like the text messaging. If you call me on it, and I don't answer, it is because it is so incredibly difficult to activate for an incoming call if it is deep within some other menu!
I guess this is why I like my pond, fishing, hunting and food preparation. The fishing equipment I use today is only moderately different than what I used 50 years ago -- sure we've got fancy electronics, but we can "upgrade" without going overboard. My 50 year old Rapala fillet knives are exactly the same as the ones they sell today. A #4 bait hook is still a #4 bait hook. A 30-30 cartridge is still a 30-30 cartridge. A 12-gauge shell is still a 12-gauge shell. My old cast iron pots and pans, over gas burners, are still valued by high-end chefs.
My current phone in not housed in an oak box, it doesn't have a crank on the side, and I don't get to talk to wonderful people like Mrs. Swanson or Mrs. Lahti when I want to place a call, or when I need assistance of nearly any kind.
The Old Curmudgeon,
Ken
