Deleting bookmarks for dummies
Just to put off doing anything productive this morning, I thought I'd delete the dozens of off-screen bookmarks that I've accumulated over the past couple of years.
Any fool can do this because all you have to do is ask Google "How do I delete my old bookmarks" and the answer will appear like magic on your screen.
“How to delete a web bookmark...
1. If you have Internet Explorer, click the Favorites button on the toolbar or open the Favorites menu and choose Organize Favorites.”
Problem right here at the starting gate. "If you have Internet Explorer..."
How do I know what I have? Deleting bookmarks has already become as complicated as making Jello. At least there is someone down there in the trailer who will take me by the hand and teach me how to make Jello if I ask.
Second problem. "click the Favorites button on the toolbar..." No pictures here to tell us how to find the elusive Favorites button. Mine is channel 246 where I can watch "The Mentalist."
Computer directions are like cooking recipes: they are only written for those who are already consummate masters of the operation being described.
I was born between the ages of the horse and the computer so never learned much about either.
When I was a kid I'd watch Percy or Lew harness up a horse or mule. The operation is still a mystery to me. There were names for each part of the wagon and harness but only a handful of old men like Lew and Vic Dennison and Percy who still worked with horses knew them. I only watched from a distance so never became intimately familiar with setting up a horse-drawn operation.
When I was around 60 years old I got a computer to facilitate bulk mailings for my speaking business. Here again you might say that I watched from a distance. Although I learned the mindless monkey moves that pushed copy out of the printer, I never became intimately familiar with the basic theory or nomenclature associated with the machine.
Even the famous “For Dummies” books aren’t really written for people who know nothing but want to learn. I’ve tried to crack several of them — one was on how to post my radio program as an iPod thing on iTunes, but came to the conclusion that “Dummies” books are written just to show off the depth of the author's erudition.
Every time I’ve learned a new difficult technical operation, I’ve always sworn I’d write up some programmed learning type of instruction to help other poor old men like myself, and I think I actually have done it a couple of times.
One thing that could never be published enough would be the website that gives you your friend’s telephone number without charging you 95 cents. I know it exists, but I keep losing it.
Anyway, because there is no possible way on this green earth to learn how to delete those old web page addresses, they can stay right there.
But I believe in helping others when I can so if I live long enough I promise you that I will post online where it can be easily retrieved and understood, by helpless old men, Marsha’s directions on how to make Jello.
Marsha sends out a yearly newsletter. It is a blatant boast of healthy, beautiful grandchildren and the financial and social successes of everyone even remotely associated with our family. On the bottom of 2012 I posted a picture of 11 baited mousetraps next to a hole inhabited by moles or voles on the sunny south side of the house. As might be expected, we received several treatises back from our academic friends outlining in detail their various successes as exterminators.
Jeremy, a neurologist at one of our leading universities, gets between their ears as it were, and says: “I think I noted … that you had baited some traps with what looked to be cheese. Professional exterminators usually use something sweet that cannot easily be taken from the bait holder. I have used soft cookies that I can smush onto the holder, and also gum drops — both are very effective.” Jeremy should know that the picture was deceiving because I bait with peanut butter. When I’m in an unforgiving mood I tie on a piece of bacon with string. I had never thought of gum drops, but sweet, sticky gum drops sound good. If the trap doesn't get them, they’ll perish with diabetes.
Robert Karl Skoglund is a longtime local writer, speaker and radio personality in Knox County. He lives in St. George. His commentary will appear in The Courier-Gazette from time to time. Email him at email@example.com. He is online at thehumblefarmer.com.