Adapting to technology

I've been overrun by gadgets.

I dropped my favorite camera during the Christmas parade, and without duct tape, three hands and some Arkie engineering, the batteries pop out, making the camera inoperable.

It was sad, so sad, because Olympus doesn't make that kind of small, simple digital camera anymore. I did a search on the Web for another just like it, but my search was fruitless.

There was one on an eBay auction, but I've been too skittish to bid long distance. Maybe I'll get over that. My younger son bought a big red pickup truck in Florida on ebay. How hard could it be?

The estimate on repairing the camera, replacing the little door that holds the batteries inside, was about $100. The camera had cost me $129 on sale at Wal-Mart.

The Log Cabin provides a digital camera for reporters' use, but it comes in a big case, has lots of buttons and must be shared with others.

My little gem with one-button to push fit in my purse and it was mine, all mine.

So with Christmas money, I replaced the simple camera with one a bit more complicated, and I used it for a couple of weeks without reading the manual. Someone suggested I must have been getting in touch with my masculine side.

Now I've read the manual, added memory, put in some super batteries, and it's working pretty well. Some of my photos even make it into the newspaper.

That taken care of, a gentle suggestion from Managing Editor David Keith sent me to check out digital recorders.

It's been noticed that I'm missing a few words in conversation lately.

The one the newsroom folks enjoy repeating most is the interview where I asked: "And where does he work?"

And the answer was "Virco."

I said: "Burko? Where is Burko?"

Once I'd started writing Burko, it was a big leap from there to Virco. And now, as cruel as they can be sometimes, when someone in the newsroom hears Virco mentioned, they shout "Burko?"

I'm a good sport, but I can take a hint.

So the salesman at Radio Shack knew his digital recorders and was very helpful.

Something tiny, I said. Like a spy might use. Voice activated.

I've been wearing it on a cord around my neck. Those who have noticed think it also takes pictures, though I've also taken to wearing my new camera on the same cord, so I won't drop it.

I try to announce to all around that I may be recording, if I remember to push the right button. It's all rather clumsy, but I think it almost looks like bling-bling. Flashy jewelry.

The recorder works pretty well when one person is speaking, and it's great for covering speeches, like Vic Snyder's talk to the Second Monday luncheon when I got to sit on the front row.

But in a room with many voices, it's all one garbled mess.

Except, of course, when I'm talking. I come in loud and clear.

For instance, while visiting MEMS in Little Rock, I captured these great quotes:

"Oh, excuse me. Was I blocking the door? I was just reading your 'What to do in case of an emergency' sign."

And ... "No, thank you. I don't need any help. I was just looking for a place to put my gum. All taken care of. Thank you."

And, to my chagrin, the most embarrassing of all the minutes I captured: "Ummm ... 'scuse me. Thanks for letting me take your picture. But I seem to have left my pencil and paper in the car. May I borrow some to write down your names?"

---

(EDITOR'S NOTE: Becky Harris is a staff writer for the Log Cabin Democrat. She can be reached at becky.harris@thecabin.net or by phone at 505-1236.)