The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree

My sister, Pat, always says I am technologically challenged. That my be so, but I come by it honestly. My parents both have issues with technology too.

Case in point: my mom and her ipod.

Now, generally speaking, my mom is usually pretty savvy with anything that makes music. She uses her computer to scan, do arrangements, burn CDs and even compose her own music. She had Bose speakers before Hammacher even suggested to Schlemmer that they put it in their catalogue. But the ipod is her Waterloo.

When she first got one, she insisted I download my entire library, including things like Meatloaf's Bat Out of Hell and Rocky Horror Picture Show . Okay, can't imagine those songs making her "most frequently played" list, but, whatever.

Throughout the next few months though, she'd casually toss out comments like: love that Bohemian Rhapsody or Tim Curry still sounds the same in Spamalot as he did in Rocky Horror.

Surprised, I finally asked her how often she listened to those songs.

"Oh, whenever they come on," she replied blithely.

But they don't just come on. You have to choose them. I kind of thought you'd be sticking more to the 1940's stuff or classical or tenors playlists.

"I hear those too...in between."

Huh?

"Well, I use my ipod when I walk or when we have a dinner party, and since I don't want a playlist to run out, I just put it on shuffle."

Mouth agape, I could only stare at her as I tried to block images of her 70 and 80 year old friends rocking out to "I'm Just a Sweet Transvestite" or "Paradise by the Dashboard Light".

Patiently, I explained that the standards playlist was 9 1/2 hours long and that if either her walks or her parties were running that long, she seriously needed to : A. consider signing up for a marathon and B. finding some new friends who didn't have quite so much time on their hands.

I showed her again how to select a playlist, but as far as I know, she is still hitting the "shuffle all" and a whole new generation is learning the words to "The Internet is for Porn" from Avenue Q.

Second case in point: my dad and voicemail.

My dad has had a cell phone for years. He has his address book and contacts, he accesses his voicemail, no problem. Get rid of the answering machine at home and replace it with voicemail from the carrier? Big problem.

The first day they connected the new line down in Florida, I took him through how to access his messages: see, just like with the answering machine, if the light is blinking, it means you have a message. You press star and 99 and enter your code and Voila! there are your messages. From outside the condo, you call the number and press * when you hear the message. Simple.

Yeah, for the first five minutes. AT&T called to say the phone was working and somehow the guys cell number got mistaken for the condo number. He wasn't the only one confused when he was called to see what the messages were. Of course, my father had already called my brother to give him this wrong number too, so for all I know, my brother and this guy have developed a relationship by now.

Then, the phone service went out. My dad called and they told him it would be a few days before they could fix it (hmmm, where have I heard that before). He called to tell me that since he couldn't get his voicemails, everyone would have to call him on his cell.

Once again, I tried to explain the concept of voicemail, and that he could still access it from his cell phone and that, yes, his messages would still be there.

"Oh, okay."

Yeah, now try saying that like you've understood at least a portion of what I just said. Think of it as having the machine at the phone company. Even if your actual phone doesn't work, the machine still does.

"Yeah. Okay. Got it. Doesn't matter too much anyway because your mother and I are going away for the weekend, so we won't be using the phone there."

But you can still get any voicemails. Right?

"Yeah. Uh, right."

The next day, he called me from the road to tell me that the AT&T had called him and the phone was working again. The bad news was that when he tried to access his voicemail, it didn't work. The guy must have screwed something up when he worked on the line. If I needed them, call his cell, not the condo.

Okay, so many things wrong with that. A. why would I call the condo when I know you are not there? and B. the voicemail and the line are two separate things. We went over this, remember?

"Well, I couldn't have dialed the wrong number, because I have it programmed into my phone."

I hung up and called to test it....and got the voicemail.

So Pat, yes, I may have issues, but I was doomed from the start. I never had a chance because I got it from both sides. As they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And since Mike seems to be fairly challenged as well, I guess that means you are the milkman's daughter!