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| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Happy?
Prepare To Meet Your Maker, Or, Outwitted By Home Appliances Here's how I look at it: Kel is more like me. She'll take the low-tech solution everytime it's offered. Oh, don't get me wrong: She is the one who arranged, via the 'net, for her and Kev's accomodations in Europe, emailing foreigners with requests for things like keys to their apartments and bank account numbers to arrange wire transfers. Oh, Kel's no fool tech-wise, it's just that she's as enthralled (if not actually more enthralled) with things like driftwood and interesting rocks than with the latest flat-screen television set. I like to think I'm like that. I know the technology. I have a healthy respect for the technology. It's just that I'm happier with, say, a sharp knife and a wooden cutting board than I am with a Cuisinart. Kev is more like Max. To boys like these, there's technology and then there's technology. It's not enough to have internet access. No, they have to have to have high-speed internet access, or, even better, why not make the whole house into a hot spot? And ergonomic keyboards? Only if they're wireless ergonomic keyboards. And appliances? You bet. Remote controls for the appliances? Check. And what's even better than an appliance with a remote control? Well, the answer would clearly have to be: An appliance with three remote controls. Welcome to Kev and Max's world. In KevLand in fact, there are at least three ways to remotely adjust every light in the house. And me? I'm still amazed by your basic everyday dimmer switch. Which is why I should have gotten, before beginning the current housesitting gig for Kev and Kel, detailed instructions about how to make coffee. Lew followed me into the kitchen and sat down at my feet. A blue heeler, Lew has incredibly intelligent brown eyes and he watches everything in an often surreptitious way so as not to unnecessarily burden you with the embarrassment of being watched by an intelligent being while you do something relatively stupid like try to make coffee with an appliance that potentially is much, much smarter than you are. The front of the well-designed coffeemaker has three different buttons that suggest themselves to be buttons that will turn the thing either on/off, on, or off. There's is an obvious door into the appliance, which is the obvious place for the coffee and filter to go, but there is no obvious way to open the stubborn little door. It's six a.m., and there really must be coffee. I think to myself: You're an intelligent being. You can use this appliance. You're moving to Japan, where those four little buttons are going to be labeled in Japanese and then what are you going to do? I think: You have some small advantage in this situation by very nature of your native language being the language that this coffemaker speaks. You have an advantage here. Right. I have an advantage, but I also have no excuses either. I speak the lingo. What could be so difficult about this? The water reservoir was easy. Open top, pour in water. Don't forget to close the top or the machine will remind you with a persistent little beep that become increasingly more French sounding as you, not understanding the cause of the distress, try to reason with the machine. You think, finally figuring out the cause of the beeping: The Japanese machines probably close themselves up after you're done putting the water in. I look down at Lew, who averts his eyes, pretending to scan the floor for any stray Cheerios. His vocabulary is either smaller or more selective than mine. He knows the words for "treat" and "frisbee" but apparently "coffee filter" is not something he is asked for on a regular basis. He kind of shrugs at my request in much the same manner as second-graders shrug when you ask them where their regular teacher keeps the books for their reading groups. These things are beyond the scope of my interest, the shrug suggests. Those little housekeeping details are in your domain, the shrug suggests. Aren't you supposed to be the one responsible for this stuff? the shrug implies. Lewie is too polite to openly suggest that a round of frisbee followed by a treat might produce the requested information. He wants me to figure that particular bit out on my own. He's a subtle dog. There's a door, but no way to open the door. There's coffee on the counter, but no coffee filter--and no way to get the coffee filter in the door even if there were a coffee filter, which there isn't. There is, however, instant coffee in the casita next door. (I bought the instant coffee after realizing that I was going to be substituting in many elementary schools that Starbucks has not yet colonized. I now carry a little baggie of instant coffee with me. There's usually a microwave in the teachers' lounge if not actually in the classroom.) Kel and Keve have a microwave. Yeah, it's a microwave with a scanner to read bar codes on packages so as to program itself to cook your food, but previous investigation has shown that it also responds to more traditional programming methods. Microwave equals boiling water. Instant coffee in boiling water equals a caffeine deliver system that resembles coffee. To The Brain at six a.m., anything resembling coffee is close enough to coffee to make The Brain happy. The Brain likes happy. I like happy. I like coffee better, but happy is okay too. Happy Saturday, demons. I'm on my way to yoga now.
More lies:
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