Open letter to Apple Support

Hi guys,

Do you have any idea how absolutely terrible the iTunes interface is? There are little buttons with no mouseovers that give you random pop-up menus which seem to have no connection to whatever the heck their picture is supposed to be. You can hide the sidebar menu of options by accident (or perhaps the default option is having it hidden, I don’t know) and not be able to get it back without looking up support. I can never find anything that I want to be able to do because the menus make no sense, and I ALWAYS end up feeling like crying or possibly throwing my computer across the room. Classic psychological negative reinforcement, guys. It makes me fear all things Apple.

You SERIOUSLY need to overhaul your usability. Looking pretty should come SECOND. If it looks all clean and shiny and Apple-y but all the useful bits are hidden, you’re doing it wrong.

Please sort it out. Then I might even start buying things off it. Who knows?

Twitter fail

So it turns out all four followers I thought I’d amassed were fake. I thought their names were too good to be true. Rena Niznik, Twyla McNickle… But unless all four people just happened to link to the exact same link after each posting two unconnected quotes from random possibly famous people, they were actually bots … aaand blocked.

Also, I’ve unfollowed Nathan Fillion. He’s cute, yes, but pretty snarky. But Jen Yates favourited one of my replies!

Putting my feet up

I was just about to text Husband Sam this afternoon to say “yay, all finished with my last ever Chaplaincy Supporters’ Christmas Service, one more thing checked off the list” when I stepped onto the footpath after crossing the road, turned my ankle and nearly fell. It’s the second time I’ve turned that same ankle this week and it hurt like billy-o. I froze and tried not to cry while the two chaps who’d crossed the road with me asked if I was okay. I said “I think so”, bravely, and made some inane comment about not trying to walk and text at once. Last time I twisted my ankle I wasn’t texting but trying to fix my brooch so it would sit right. That time I actually did fall over on my butt, which made me feel ridiculous, and bent the pin of the brooch, which was a gift from my beloved mother-in-law. (It was fine, I straightened it right out again against my desk when I got to work.)

This time, though, I wasn’t even wearing heels! I’ve often fallen off the platform jandals I was wearing last time, but today it was 2-inch block-heel nice conservative pumps for the Christmas service, so why did I fall over? Perhaps my body, realising that it’s not going to get migraines any more now that I’ve quit coffee and found a good preventive regime, has to get a bit more creative to make me stop moving and shut up for a while.

I often used to twist my ankles when I was a kid. Maybe mine are a bit weak. Maybe I walk funny. God knows. Anyway, I’m now lying on the couch with two cushions at one end and a bread-bag full of melting ice-cubes at the other, a bandaged left ankle, a plate that used to have home-made biscuits on it and a mug of orange juice. And my laptop, of course. It’s amazing what your kids will do for you if you let them see you cry.

I am very thankful right now that I cooked tea last night – a big pot of soup that Mr 9 can put on the stove while Miss 4 and Mr 7 fight over who gets to make toast. I’m quite looking forward to being looked after by my kids some more. Sam will be a bit late home. Hope I’ll survive.

Bureaucracy

I finally applied for my student loan for next year. My goodness, what a process. What kind of system, when you ask it to remind you of your username, gives you a username that is then too long for the field in the form you have to put it into? A stupid one, that’s what. I have emailed them, including the phrase “unbelievably stupid”. I then filled out an application as if I wasn’t a returning student but a new one, which took about half an hour and several yells for DH to come and tell me, e.g., what our bank account number is, what his monthly income is, what we’ve paid on house maintenance this year, and so on. If he died tomorrow I would seriously be in the poop.

I had a nice long chat today at DH’s work do with a fellow psychology geek who’s actually working in the department so she could give me the low-down on some of my potential supervisors in there. Now I face the daunting task of contacting these people, one of whom will direct my fate for the next two years and help form the basis for the rest of my life, and decide which one. No pressure. Oh, and I should send them my CV. Yes, I’m starting an MSc in Psychology. I’ve done an Arts degree, run an office for the last four years, written a total of two lab reports and never designed an experiment in my life.

On the other hand, I got at least an A average in my DipGrad (endorsed in Psychology) including an A+ in both Stats papers, so perhaps I should just stop psyching myself out.

Why are seven-year-old boys so addicted to making annoying noises and talking in silly voices? Mr 9 did the same. Mr 7 has discovered a way of humming which makes something, possibly his teeth, buzz. Like nails down a blackboard.