Andy Young: Able to see, but no eyes

By Andy Young

We educators sure look forward to our summers, and our two-month break has begun. That should be cause for joy. My personal landscape ought to be utterly uncluttered by stress, hassles, squabbles or any other undue burdens. My days should be chock full of laughter, contentment and fun.

But unfortunately that’s not the case. So far summer’s been a downer. A bummer. A drag. Resentment, annoyance and regret are all constant presences. Too bad; those scourges should be replaced by enjoyment, amusement and play. And let me be clear: when one portrays me, one doesn’t see somebody who carps about a perpetually half-empty glass. True, Andrew Young may not be perfect, but he’s no Eeyore.

Joy, pleasure and glee would all be preferable to sadness, woe and gloom. But sadly, that’s not my current real world, thanks to a perpetual adversary: technology. My prolonged battle regards a problem that recurs constantly, whenever a computer’s needed. Absent a remedy to the present quandary, nonstop troubles are guaranteed. And there doesn’t appear to be an easy answer to my personal conundrum, thus no decent or thoughtful scholarly output can be expected from here for the foreseeable future.

You see, over the summer my pals and I enjoy the exchange of messages every so often. But presently there’s a major snafu at my end of our correspondence group.

My dreadfully elderly (and somewhat treacherous) computer presently has a flaw that has made the job of on-paper thought development become unusually arduous. The problem’s centered on the keyboard. And because there’s no easy, trouble-free remedy, my power to construct cogent essays for my network of pals (and for the Eagle) faces a great challenge. There’s a severe danger here, because whatever talent any author possesses about penned words can be greatly reduced unless a cure for any relentless problem can be created. Plus, the panacea (should one actually be found) also must remedy the headache accurately and permanently. Because of my problem there’s currently no access to gerunds, and that’s all but death to a purported person of letters. The obstacle that haunts me can truly be called a bear.

So what exact subject currently troubles me, you ask?

A computer key that doesn’t work, that’s what. Just one. But the defect concerns what’s clearly a “key key.”

There are many reasons our alphabet has 26 letters. Each one plays a fundamental role, so that humans can clearly exchange both cogent and casual thoughts. But when even a lone letter evaporates, to adequately get one’s thoughts across to another can be a very tough task. An absent X? No problem. Could we make due were the Q (or the K) to fly the coop? Absolutely. But when there’s a vowel atop the flawed key? That’s a major obstacle. A huge, colossal, tremendous problem. Bereft of one of the 5 vowels, even a veteran author’s sentences look as though they’ve been formulated by some sort of mutant quadruped.

So how does one express clear thoughts, let alone prepare an essay for a local newspaper, when there are only four usable vowels? The other one’s not reachable at the moment, due to an awkward, troublesome, and somewhat cumbersome snafu.

Eye suppose phonetyk spellyng yz a posse bullytee, butt as u can see, that can be a tryfull confuse zyng.

Me are frustrated, that’s for sure. Why? Hey, have you ever attempted to type (or construct, should you prefer an alternate verb) a 600-word essay, sans access to the 9th letter of the alphabet?

Does anyone assume such a chore would be easy? Really?

Thynk uh ghen. <