Au Courant

As I think I mentioned a day or so ago, the people who organize this blog site have introduced various mechanisms to "improve" things for those using it.  As usual I freeze, not exactly in terror, but with the knowledge that I do not understand and indeed will not understand if instructions were made available to me.  Somewhere along the line of the evolution of new technology I dropped out, and I guess it was when universal symbols were introduced to eliminate the potential confusion of a national language.  Since that language usually had been English I was not the least inconvenienced and merrily read "Delete," "Try Again," "Next Page" etc with grace and ease which is not the case when I am confronted by little symbols, the little man holding up his hand, so stylized that I did not even realize it was a little man until it had been laboriously explained to me more than once and yes, still today, I have forgotten.  I own the latest IPhone, IMac, IPad, you name it, and can barely do more than turn the instrument on, always amazed when with others who excitedly describe the intellectual and technical maneuvers available to them with these devices.  I was once comfortable in my space, recognizing like old friends the knobs and switches and routines associated with all the gadgets of my life.  I wander now amidst what I do not recognize as old friendly faces; I still cannot turn on the television or Roku or whatever, since one needs to manipulate three wands or tuning sticks or whatever they are called. I am terrified of rental cars since their various electronic features are not always instantly comprehensible nor the symbols that direct the driver to their use.  Ah, terror, terror--the world grows too unknown too fast for me.  As a soothing idea I think I will make my guests for Monday night southern fried chicken.  There were instructions in the Times with photographs; everything seemed so simple if you just watched out for the hot, hot fat and didn't let it splatter. No advanced technology here, although I know that my daughter if it were she making the platter of southern fried chicken would then "post it on Facebook," something else I have not come to grips with.  "You wouldn't want to, Dad," she once warned me, "the posts are too simple-minded for you."  What do you suppose that means?