I guess I’m the old dog now. Just like my parents struggled to program the VCR, I struggle to keep up with rapidly changing technology.
Technology has ruined my relationship with my truck. A computer shifts gears based on my driving patterns. How do I tell the computer that its exaggerated shifting seems to be based on the former owner’s bathmophobia, or fear of hills?
I’d pay extra for a vehicle with hand crank windows. I have a friend who decides to go to the drive-through based on the temperament of his power windows.
When I hop into my wife’s car, I immediately start hitting buttons to turn off “helpful” features, like the one that tells me to “keep my eyes on the road”. How else am I supposed to scout kayak fishing locations as I drive down the highway?
Old Dog, New Tricks
The struggle got real on my last fishing trip. I recently purchased a small action camera with voice commands. Before powering up, I actually read the instructions. The voice commands are simple, I just have to recite the exact words to control the camera’s features.
To start the video, I say, “GoPro, start recording”. To stop the video I say, “GoPro, stop recording.” I can turn the camera on and off and take photos by reciting the correct command. When my hands are busy reeling in a fish, I can still capture the action. I couldn’t wait to try it out.
On the long drive to the launch, with the camera tucked in my gear bag in the backseat, I practiced my commands aloud. “GoPro, power on. GoPro, start recording. GoPro, stop recording. GoPro, turn off,” I repeated over and over again. By the time I reached the lake, I had the commands down pat.
When I hit the water, with the camera strapped to my head like a real action hero, I cast my spoon and worked it across the rocky bottom. A handful of anglers were lining the shore doing the same thing.
I felt a bump.
“Oooh, that rock felt like a fish,” I thought and pushed the power button on the camera.
Two casts later, ka-chunk, my rod loaded up with a swift and powerful fish.
“Take video,” I commanded and waited for the camera to beep in response.
No beep.
“Take video!” I shouted, as if the camera was hard of hearing.
No beep. The fleeing fish dumped line from my reel.
“Hey, seriously!” I tried to reason with the camera, hoping I didn’t hurt its feelings, “Please take video!”
Still no beep.
“Hey, you stupid camera, take video!”
Silence.
The fish turned for the rocks and I finally remembered my command.
“GoPro, start recording!” I shouted.
BEEP!
The camera started filming just as the bright silver and gray king salmon leaped clear, completed a somersault, splashed into the water and pulled the hook. “Ugh! Well at least I got the jump on film,” I thought.
Later, I reviewed the video. I managed to film a few minutes of random water and rocks with me cursing.
All I have to say is…Well, beep.
the old dog now. Just like my parents struggled to program the VCR, I struggle to keep up with rapidly changing technology.
Technology has ruined my relationship with my truck. A computer shifts gears based on my driving patterns. How do I tell the computer that its exaggerated shifting seems to be based on the former owner’s bathmophobia, or fear of hills?
I’d pay extra for a vehicle with hand crank windows. I have a friend who decides to go to the drive-through based on the temperament of his power windows.
When I hop into my wife’s car, I immediately start hitting buttons to turn off “helpful” features, like the one that tells me to “keep my eyes on the road”. How else am I supposed to scout kayak fishing locations as I drive down the highway?
The struggle got real on my last fishing trip. I recently purchased a small action camera with voice commands. Before powering up, I actually read the instructions. The voice commands are simple, I just have to recite the exact words to control the camera’s features.
To start the video, I say, “GoPro, start recording”. To stop the video I say, “GoPro, stop recording.” I can turn the camera on and off and take photos by reciting the correct command. When my hands are busy reeling in a fish, I can still capture the action. I couldn’t wait to try it out.
On the long drive to the launch, with the camera tucked in my gear bag in the backseat, I practiced my commands aloud. “GoPro, power on. GoPro, start recording. GoPro, stop recording. GoPro, turn off,” I repeated over and over again. By the time I reached the lake, I had the commands down pat.
When I hit the water, with the camera strapped to my head like a real action hero, I cast my spoon and worked it across the rocky bottom. A handful of anglers were lining the shore doing the same thing.
I felt a bump.
“Oooh, that rock felt like a fish,” I thought and pushed the power button on the camera.
Two casts later, ka-chunk, my rod loaded up with a swift and powerful fish.
“Take video,” I commanded and waited for the camera to beep in response.
No beep.
“Take video!” I shouted, as if the camera was hard of hearing.
No beep. The fleeing fish dumped line from my reel.
“Hey, seriously!” I tried to reason with the camera, hoping I didn’t hurt its feelings, “Please take video!”
Still no beep.
“Hey, you stupid camera, take video!”
Silence.
The fish turned for the rocks and I finally remembered my command.
“GoPro, start recording!” I shouted.
BEEP!
The camera started filming just as the bright silver and gray king salmon leaped clear, completed a somersault, splashed into the water and pulled the hook. “Ugh! Well at least I got the jump on film,” I thought.
Later, I reviewed the video. I managed to film a few minutes of random water and rocks with me cursing.
All I have to say is… Well, beep.
Feature illustration: Lorenzo del Bianco
