Going Ga-Ga for Google

Some day when I am old and writing my memoirs from a veranda on the French Riviera, I shall organize my life story pre- and post-Google. I'm just old enough to have keen recollection of life without internet (I took a typewriter with me when I went off to college). And I'm young enough to have thoroughly embraced the thrill of cruising down the information highway. In fact, googling for answers to a diverse array of life's perplexing questions has become part of my almost-daily repertoire. For instance, in the recent past I've googled the following topics:

• how to make granola in the crockpot
• the pros and cons of freezing cilantro
  
• interpretations of Leviticus
• memorable quotes from "Monsters, Inc"
• exercises to bolster wimpy triceps
• how to say "thank you" in Swahili, and
• whether the international dissertation tribunal prefers citations to be listed alphabetically or chronologically

As you can see, it's difficult to imagine how deprived my life would be without such crucial bits of information. However, each of these significant searches takes a back seat to yesterday's Googlicious triumph.

Having finally arisen from my prolonged slump of pathetically unproductive days, I was sitting at my kitchen table diligently transferring a slew of video files from my dissertation project onto my new external hard-drive. All was going well until an error message popped up informing me that "the file is too large for the destination file system." What the heck? It was only 4.5 GB and the hard-drive holds 500 GB! I fussed around with it for a while, to no avail. At this point I called the tech-support guys at the university.

"Hmmm," helpful computer geek responds. "I don't know. Maybe you should try restarting your computer. If that doesn't work, google it."

(Might I add that I'm pretty sure this guy is getting paid for his advice.)

Restarting the computer did not fix the problem. So I googled the error message. To make a longer story shorter, I discovered that the problem was likely that the hard-drive was formatted in FAT32 instead of NTFS. Of course, why didn't I think of that?!

I then proceeded to follow recommendations by various benevolent computer gurus who had shared their knowledge online. In the end, I did this:


All by myself. Reprogrammed my computer to transfer files into some new and miraculous form of digital matter. I now have an equal-opportunity hard-drive that is happy to accept files of all shapes and sizes. Furthermore, those few strategic Google searches have practically transformed me into a computer programmer.

Now it's your turn. Seriously. I call on all seven of my loyal readers to post one of your favorite Google searches in the comments. What life-changing information have you acquired recently from googling?

A Fifth-Grader's Perspective on Dissertation Writing

I have a very smart first-cousin-once-removed, who is already smarter than I ever hope to be. Sophie is eleven years old and quite the Renaissance woman. On the phone today she asked about my dissertation (usually she calls it my "disorientation"). Our conversation went something like this:

Sophie: How long does your dissertation have to be?
Me: About 300 pages.
S: 300 pages?! How is that possible?? You're going to write 300 pages about how kids interact with each other? I think you could say everything about that in one page. That's unlawful! Absolutely criminal!
Me: I know. Let this be a lesson to you.
S: Right. To never get myself worked into a dissertation.
Me: Exactly.
S: We'll have to have National Dissertation Mourning Day.
Me: Good idea.
S: Well, I'm extremely sorry from the depths of my soul.

(See. I told you Sophie was smart!)

Gearing Up for Mother's Day

As a single woman nearing 40, I have generally accepted my marital status – or lack thereof. Quite frankly, these days I don’t spend that much time worrying about it. Like everyone, I experience seasons of self-doubt, disenchantment, disappointment, or despair. But overall, I am sincerely happy and at peace. All the same, Mother’s Day wins a slot on my list of “Top Five Things Most Likely to Rip a Hole in My Personal Security Blanket.”

It’s not that I’m opposed to Mother’s Day; on the contrary, I’m all in favor of celebrating mothers and motherhood. It’s just that nothing seems to scream “You are NOT a mother!” more loudly than walking into church on Mother’s Day. It’s the feeling you get when you inadvertently set off the bomb detector in the security line at the airport and all eyes are immediately riveted suspiciously on you. I realize that in reality, nobody in the chapel is actually paying any attention to me, notwithstanding the neon sign over my head emblazoned with the epigraph, “single and childless.” But still, this is how it feels every year, even when I’m on my best behavior and have sincerely and prayerfully tried to look outward and upward on Mother’s Day.

More awkward than walking into the chapel, however, is walking out of the chapel when the meeting ends and the Mother’s Day gifts are distributed. Lately, I’ve tried to sneak out early before this ritual begins. But invariably, some kind soul will notice that I’m not carrying a plant or wearing a candy necklace and will seek to rectify the oversight. But chocolate and flowers – as lovely as they are – make for poor consolation prizes in this case.

I know. You don’t have to have children to be a mother.

I know. God operates on His own timetable and He’s not in the business of forever withholding blessings.

I know. Mother’s Day can be painful for women of all walks and circumstances, including those who have children.

I know. Members of the congregation are only sincerely trying to show love to all the women on Mother’s Day.

And quite frankly, I really wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s good to have a day set aside to honor our own mothers and the mothers around us. All women, with or without children, ought to be a part of the celebration.

And so, this Sunday, I’ll try again to be filled with a spirit of gratitude and unselfishness. I shall attempt to rally all the self-assurance I can muster. Perhaps I’ll even come to church with a red wagon full of potted plants and a magnificent corsage on each wrist.

Regardless, I fully intend to have chocolate for breakfast.

The Benefits of Swine Flu

Swine Flu seems to be the hottest virus in town. The trouble is, I don't have it -- not even the slightest indication -- which sadly implies that I am expected to move forward as though a possible pandemic were not hovering menacingly. Even the illustrious university I attend has issued a warning called "Swine Flu and Final Examinations." This helpful memo reminds us of the health benefits of "social distancing" and recommends that students be seated at least 3 feet from each other to avoid spreading Swine Flu (or answers to test questions). However, since I am not taking any final exams this year, my chances of contracting the virus are slim. And that is an unfortunate fact since I could truly benefit from being quarantined.

In between coughs and sniffles, here's how I'd spend my time if it were my civic duty to remain in my apartment for several days:

a) Sort through the multiple piles of papers that are quickly overtaking both my study and my bedroom.
b) Give away clothes that don't fit, are threadbare, or are seriously out-dated (thus, dispensing of most of my wardrobe).
c) Hang the stack of pictures that have been waiting for over six months to adorn my bare walls.
d) Begin transcribing and analyzing the mountains of data I've already acquired from the first couple weeks of my dissertation study.
e) Read Silas Marner -- our book club read for the month.
f) Write thank you notes for the past three years' gifts and kind services.
g) Do something with my three crates marked "for scrapbook." (This could involve a bonfire.)
h) Sleep.

In other words, I'm dying to do some serious digging out from the pile-up that's been accumulating for months.

Anyone wanna go to Mexico??