Get Outta My Interface

In the early days of television, which were also my early days, there was a children's show about a cartoon character called Winky Dink.  Hosted by Jack Barry in a business suit, the stories revolved around WD getting into a pickle. He could always be saved by completion of a connect-the-dots picture. Quick, quick, WD needs something, let's find out what it is! An airplane! An egg beater! A barrel of monkeys!

For the true Winky experience you were supposed to go interactive. You were supposed to buy a Winky Dink salvation kit, consisting of a piece of clear vinyl and a few non-Crayola crayons. Stick the vinyl to the tv, connect the dots, save Winky Dink, scrub it clean for next week.

If your family was like mine and many, many others, your plaintive request for a Winky Dink kit was met with incredulity and derision because that was in the days before anyone would pay good money for something as inane as a piece of vinyl and some inferior crayons. Even if we had crayons, almost no one had sheets of clear vinyl or even Saran Wrap lying around the house; we still used waxed paper to wrap our baloney sandwiches. Even if there had been some spare vinyl, “You kids are not going to waste it on something as foolish as scribbling on a tv screen, and who do you think is going to have to scrub it clean when you're finished, you can't even pick your clothes up off the floor.”

If you and your siblings were like mine, you tried at least once to complete the picture by using your own crayons directly on the tv screen. You probably didn't try it more than once, though, and I don't have to tell you why.

I didn't mean to get highjacked by Winky Dink—quick, draw me some horse blinders so I can't see that Wikipedia icon—but not a day goes by when I don't feel like digging out my crayons and scribbling on my computer screen in frustration. I really wish “they” would stop messing with my interface.

Admittedly, I throw a large amount of my time into the World Wide Sinkhole, but that amount has become even larger in the past few weeks as nearly every site I use regularly has become new and “improved” and I have to figure out all over again how to do the basic tasks. Listen, guys, time is short and getting shorter all the time, can't you at least provide a warning.

Xfinity, are you trying to gaslight me by switching the looks of the sign-in page randomly? I filled out your survey to let you know what I thought, including my opinion of your silly name, but it hasn't made a difference. Why do I have to click four times to get to a readable inbox? Yes, I know you want me to look at the ads, but I have trained myself not to see the prune-faced housewife who knows the secrets of wrinkle wrestling or the geezer with St. Vitas Dance who wants me to lower my mortgage rate.  I am tired of those zaftig young things modeling Zulily outfits.  I certainly don't give a rat's rear about such news items as the bear on the tightrope or the 7 items I must remove from my kitchen right now or risk poisoning y family and friends.  Outta my way! I need to get to my very own emails targeting me for free shipping and sitewide sales, today only.

Audible, where did you hide my wish list? If I can't find it, I can't order because I rely on you to remember this sort of crap for me. Hotmail, those new color schemes are spiffy, but where do those little faces of my friends come from anyway? Gmail, why won't you tell me how to delete the build-up in my inbox at one fell swoop? And why can't I excise that really sad late-night webcam picture from my profile? As for you, Kindle, I am really happy that I don't bother to update my apps very often so I didn't have to deal with the obliteration of my library the other day.

I like novelty, I'm not opposed to change, I really don't want to sound like the kind of old croaker who still pines for her rotary phone and her folding plastic rain bonnet. But sometimes visiting your websites feels like coming home after a nice spa weekend to find that Nick Jr. has moved in and redecorated my living room with a Yo Gabba Gabba theme and I have to play find the sproiling chicken in order to open the door to the bathroom.  (No, I don't know what a sproiling chicken is; I didn't have a three-year old on hand to demonstrate how to play the game.)

Sigh! I guess I am that old croaker after all, the one who secretly pines for the monochrome monitor with the "don't touch it or it'll explode" CRT screen.  Hand me my crayons, would you? And, if you find her,  give my love to the sproiling chicken.