User Manual

I don't really make New Year's resolutions (though if I did, I'd probably get around to it about two weeks into the year). But this year, I did decide (not resolve--verb choice is everything, and to resolve is to de facto make a resolution, which I don't do) to try to force myself to learn new things.

If you hang around here at all, then maybe you're wondering "What on earth is she talking about? She doesn't seem to do anything other than write and read and drive kids around and compulsively clean her house, so she must be learning something from the reading part, at least." And you'd be right. But gaining knowledge (however useless) by reading a book and learning a practical skill are two entirely separate and distinct things. I do the former very well. I do the latter very badly.

For example, I'm writing this on the Chromebook that I bought a few months ago. There's a lot to love about this little mini-computer, including its light weight, compact size, semi-attractive design, and keyboard that is ideally suited to my hands. But there are many differences between working on this and working on a PC, and instead of taking a disciplined and orderly approach to learning how to use the Chromebook well, I'm doing it piecemeal, just looking up tricks and keyboard shortcuts when I need them (and promptly forgetting and having to look up the same tricks and shortcuts over and over again. Hello? Where is the delete key?)

Last year, my husband bought a Dyson vacuum cleaner for me, thinking that I'd rather have something lightweight and easy to maneuver. And it's a nice vacuum cleaner, which also looks interesting and colorful. But it's not well-designed, because I still can't figure out how to use the attachments. I tried one time and gave up. In my defense, it's a domestic appliance, and an obviously essential feature like the hand-held attachments should be so self-evidently easy to use that "figuring it out" shouldn't even enter into the equation. There's always a work-around; mine is making my husband attach them for me. Not perfect, but it gets the job done.

*****

If you're a member of the very broad demographic that includes suburban mothers ages 30-60, then you have probably read or heard about the Instant Pot. And you have probably asked friends about it, who have probably all told you that you MUST get one, immediately. But if you're me, you have ignored their advice, because one look at the picture of the Instant Pot suggests that it's a complicated little piece of machinery, and that even thinking about figuring out how to use it will stress you out.

What is this, the space shuttle?
I mean, that's a lot of buttons, right? 

So I resisted. Every time someone would tell me how life-changingly awesome the Instant Pot is, I'd think about buying one, but then I'd also think about having to figure out how to use it. But two weeks ago, I finally caved and ordered one from Amazon, and it arrived two days later.

I panicked for a moment when I arrived home from work and found the box waiting for me. Normally, I love packages, but I knew that I had to teach myself how to use the Instant Pot the minute I opened it, or it would sit on my kitchen counter, untouched, for months. Maybe years.So I left it in the box, just until the next day. And this is where this could easily have turned into a story about how, weeks later, the box remained unopened, a daily reminder of my practical incompetence and strong inclination toward procrastination, but I actually did open it the next day.

Almost immediately, I wished I hadn't. Aside from being packaged to within an inch of its life, it included accessories and an instruction manual and a recipe book and a "quick start" guide and spoons and measuring cups and various and sundry parts. On a list of things that provoke hyperventilating anxiety for me, complicated machinery ranks pretty near the top, but proliferation of stuff ranks even higher.

Here I was faced with a choice: Either breathe into a paper bag, gather my wits (such as they are), and figure it out; or gather up all of the parts and paper, throw it all back in the box, and run screaming from the house.

I went with Plan B.

The End.

*****

No, I'm kidding. First I got rid of the box, along with the forty pounds of styrofoam packing materials, plastic, and extraneous paper. Then I put the spoons and other plastic parts into the dishwasher. That left me with a reasonably manageable pile of stuff with which to tangle. I started with the diagram, making sure that I could identify all of the moving parts. Then I read through the rest of the instruction manual, until I felt confident that I knew, at least, how to tighten the lid properly (it's a pressure cooker, so you have to do that part right or it will blow up) and how to turn it on.

Armed with knowledge, I decided to try to poach a chicken breast. Success! A few days later, I cooked some rice, which also turned out fine.  So far, I've only used it those two times, but now I have several more recipes to try; and the hard part, as far as I'm concerned, is out of the way.

Me: 1. Instant Pot: 0.

*****
High on success, I decided (not resolved) to tackle one practical challenge per month for the rest of 2018, so that by December, I'd have a dozen new and useful skills. And then the timesheet debacle happened.

People who work for the Federal government, or for government contractors, make up another pretty broad demographic (especially here in the DMV, where we're probably half the population). Those of us who work for contractors are required to carefully record every minute of time that we work, and to make sure that our government customers are billed for all of the time that we spend on their projects, but not for one minute more. This is pretty straightforward if you're 100% overhead (so none of your time is billable to the Feds) or if you're 100% embedded with a particular customer (so all of your time is billable to that customer). It gets complicated for people like me, who work on several different government projects, in addition to overhead projects.

Well, it's complicated now, anyway. We used to use a very simple online system, and it took me no more than five minutes a day, tops, to record my time. And then we decided to upgrade to a very well-known "enterprise" (God help me) system that I won't name here, but it rhymes with "Smell Tek," because it stinks. I won't burden you with details (too late). But many people who are far smarter than I (another very broad demographic) were completely flummoxed by the ridiculous complexity that this system has imposed on the once-simple task of recording work time.

So I'm taking February off. Instant Pot cooking and timekeeping count as my new skills for January and February. Maybe in March, I'll show the Chromebook who's boss.

*****

It's Saturday morning now. I'm hopeful that the politicians will figure out how to reopen the government, but as always, both sides are far more concerned with getting power and keeping it than with actually representing the interests of the people who elected them. "Schumer Shutdown" has a satisfying Fox News alliterative ring to it, of course, but it's just too ridiculous to even suggest that anyone other than the party that controls the Legislative and Executive branches is responsible for this. I'm not a Chuck Schumer fan (I can't stand most of the Democratic leadership) but this is the only shutdown that has ever occurred under one-party control.  Anyway, I'm pretty sure that they'll figure it out today, because President Trump has a $100,000-a-person party tonight. By the way, good luck to all of those billionaires if they think they'll get a refund if Trump doesn't show up.