Technology And I Are NOT Friends...

If you're a regular reader of this blog, you'll know that I have a YouTube channel I'm really passionate about.  I'm very proud of the videos I make and the whole filming and editing process has become something I hugely enjoy.

The trouble is, editing is done on a computer.  And I am...the least technological person ever.

EVER.

When I use anything beyond a computer programme I'm very familiar with, I instantly become a ninety seven year old, utterly flummoxed by "new-fangled technology."  I flail helplessly, mashing keys and wondering why the screen brightness has suddenly changed, but the programme itself isn't doing what I want it to.  If I still used a desktop PC, I'd probably resort to sticking the mouse in my ear or something.  That's the level of ineptitude we're talking.

And so, for someone as technologically daft as I am, it's quite a wonder that I've taught myself to use Final Cut Pro at all.  That I can edit green screen sketches without somehow managing to accidentally force my MacBook into some kind of bizarre unsafe mode is a constant surprise.  In fact, editing is usually a delight.

Until earlier this week.

You see, I have a problem with my MacBook, in that it has the memory of a goldfish.  It fills up quicker than an Amazon shopping basket on Black Friday.  I only have to blink at my laptop and it responds by telling me I've run out of disk storage.

So, naturally, I have a couple of external hard drives that come in very handy.  And often, when I'm editing a video, I create a library of files that saves directly to an external drive, in order to save space on the laptop itself.  

But sometimes...  I don't.  Sometimes, if I'm a bit sleepy, in a rush to crack on with editing or just having a very typically Emma day, I just import lots of files onto my MacBook, create a library and expect it to cope.

And this week, it did not.

I can't accurately describe the frustration of being three quarters of the way through editing a video, when your computer suddenly says no.  I would imagine it's a similar sensation to the one you'd get if you'd stayed in all day, waiting for a very important call, only for the phone to finally ring and for you to answer it and realise it's just someone wanting to check if you've been mis-sold PPI.

There I was, with probably three hours of editing time under my belt and the finish line starting to creep into sight, when that familiar error message popped up, to tell me that my laptop's teensy, tiny memory was, much like me after Christmas dinner, simply too full to be of any use.

In a moment of what I assumed simply must be genius (spoiler: it was not), I decided that there was an obvious and quick solution to this problem.  I'd merely transfer the folder with all the video files onto my external hard drive and send the Final Cut Pro library to the external drive, too.  Once it was all on there, I could delete it from my laptop and carry on editing like a freaking boss.  

So, that, dear reader, is exactly what I did.  Except somewhere between my laptop and the external hard drive, the library and the folder of video files decided to go off on a beautiful adventure, together.  Because only after I'd deleted them from the laptop, did I realise that despite the "sending items to external hard drive" message that had popped up on screen, the files had most certainly not completed their journey.  They had vanished.

Now, yes.  A tech savvy person would have double and probably triple checked that the files were on the external hard drive before she deleted them from her laptop, but...  I am not that person.  And I was three hours into an editing session and therefore my eyes were sore and I wasn't thinking like a normal human, anymore.  Editing turns you into a strange zombie who notices the sounds your lips make when they slap together too harshly on a syllable.  It doesn't make you alert to the very real dangers of DATA LOSS.

My reaction was obviously typically understated.  I pulled the kind of distressed faces that some would consider Oscar-worthy.  I got very creative with my insults, whilst swearing at both myself and the laptop.  I might have cried.

Believe me when I say that nothing shows you how much of a technological disaster area you are, quite like having to sort out something like this.  The simple answers - check that it's not in the trash, try to restore from a back up etc - were there in my head (and didn't work, irritatingly), but anything beyond that was like trying to carve an elegant swan out of a lump of rapidly melting butter.  

Many questions were asked of Google, and the type of question became more frantic as time passed.  I went from "how to recover accidentally deleted files" to "SOFTWARE DOWNLOAD FOR IDIOTS WHO RUIN THEIR OWN LIVES" at a frighteningly fast pace.

And of course, then I had to navigate a whole heap of slightly dodgy downloads and free trials that let you look at your lost files, but then wanted ninety bazillion pounds to let you have them back again.

I went to bed at gone midnight, by which time I had lost any semblance of remaining sanity, along with all the files I'd deleted.

Thankfully, however, the solution came to me not so much in a dream, but in a fevered state of panic at around 3am.  I remembered I'd once recovered files lost from my camera's SD card using a programme I'd downloaded off the internet.  Surely, I could recover these files from my SD card, too?!

Yes, naturally I'd deleted them off the SD card, too.  Shut up.  They were on my laptop and supposedly my external hard drive.  They were meant to be SAFE.

Anyway, long story short, the following day, I managed to download three separate free trials for programmes that each let me recover a few of the files I needed back.  My reaction upon actually being able to start editing again (admittedly from scratch, which was a pain) was like something more commonly seen on one of those "People's Postcode Lottery" adverts.  I practically fell to my knees and promised my soul to the IT community in general.

Look, the moral of this story is twofold: 1) SAVE STUFF REGULARLY AND BACK IT UP TO MULTIPLE DEVICES.  2) Don't trust me with anything technological.  Seriously, it's for your own good.

Mine, too.

Techno-FAIL

This is my sad face, complete with overhead cloud of DOOM.

Last month, I decided that I'm no longer going to fret over the things I'm not very good at.  I wrote a blog, listening reasons I fail and comparing them to the reasons why I'm actually epic and made the choice that I would stop dwelling on anything I suck at.  I mean, who cares that I've never been able to roll my eyes, for goodness sake?!

Witness a master at work...

But there is one thing I am really bad at, that, in today's modern world, is a bit of a pain in the bum.

I'm awful with technology.

I can use the Internet.  I have an iPhone.  I can basically stumble along, most of the time.  But if you take me away from my comfort zone, I will freak right out.

Pictured: My comfort zone.

For example, I don't have Photoshop.  I'm almost certain that I wouldn't be able to use it.  I am awful at photo manipulation, and the images I create on Paint in order to illustrate my weekly bedtime stories are, if I'm brutally honest, amateurish at best.  I envy people who can create hilarious Photoshopped images, because it's something I will never be able to do.  Image manipulation is just not one of my skills.  And that's only the tip of the terrifyingly-bad-at-technology iceberg.

I can use my webcam to turn myself into a cyclopse, though.

Technology is a wonderful, brilliant thing.  It's given us computers, games consoles and the World Wide Web.  I understand how to use those things - mostly - but I don't have a clue how they work.  When I was setting up my weekly bedtime story podcast, I had to have a far more tech-savvy friend essentially talk me through the entire process.  He even had to tell me how to resize a photo, in order to get the podcast onto iTunes, because I was that dim.

I'm currently praying that my laptop lasts forever, because the thought of having to go to PC World and blag my way through a conversation about how much RAM I need (why do I want sheep in a computer?!), or how many Bits are best is literally terrifying.  

To let you know exactly how dumb I am when it comes to "tech-speak," I recently visited a website that listed common technological words and phrases, in order to try to teach myself.  I remember literally none of the actual explanations behind the words I read, but here's what I assume them to mean:

Boot sequence: The process of putting on a pair of wellies.

Cache: What you need to buy stuff with.

DFS: Somewhere you can go to purchase a sofa (with all the cache you've been saving).

Ethernet: The Internet for ghosts.

Megapixel: Better than all the other pixels.

I just don't think the technological side of my brain works right.  Maybe I was dropped on my head as a baby and all the potential for learning about how computers work was deleted, or something.  If you ask me to post a blog, create a gif using an online creator or upload a video to YouTube, I'm absolutely fine.  Ask me to talk you through what wires go where on a PC and I will stare at you like you've just grown a new head and then quite possibly cry.

My life online frequently consists of trying to upload something, connect to somewhere or even just figure out how something works, only to find myself rushing to Google and begging for help.  When people talk to me using technological terms, my brain does this:

Which is unhelpful, because thanks to horror movies, static terrifies me.

It's not just computers, either.  I once pressed the wrong button on my TV and for a good fifteen minutes, a blue screen of death blinked back at me, as I hurled various profanities at it and mourned the inevitable death of my ability to watch telly in bed ever again.  Then I pressed another button (for what seemed like the nine millionth time), the screen came back to life and I came very close to weeping with joy.  To this day, I don't know what I pressed to make it go wrong, nor do I entirely know which button I pressed to make it right again.  I basically assume the technology fairies took pity on me and used magic dust or something.

When you're utterly confused by technology, every day brings its own challenges.  Earlier today, whilst driving along, I suddenly realised that my iPad (which I currently use as an iPod) was connected to my car, but wasn't being recognised by the system for some reason.  So, I behaved like any good, self-respecting technophobe and panicked like mad, pleaded with it, turned the stereo off and on again three times and then yanked the wire out and shoved it back in.  All whilst sitting at traffic lights, thankfully.

In fact, even cars are a form of technology that baffle me.  I can drive one, but if something goes wrong, I generally assume that it's the end of the freaking world.  I'm someone who's been known to get glassy-eyed over a dashboard warning light.  I carry jump leads, but I have literally no idea how to use them.

In a nutshell, I am someone who can use technology, as long as literally nothing goes wrong.  Ever.

Basically, don't ask me to set anything up, don't talk to me about file extensions and don't request that I convert anything from one form of file to another and we'll be fine.

I think I've kind of come to accept my status as a user of technology who understands probably 10% of it, at most.  The thing is, as much as it's annoying to be rubbish at something that's so central to the world we live in, I have to remind myself that it's okay to to acknowledge your failings in life.  People are made up of things they're good at and things they suck at - it's what makes us rounded.

Well, all the pizza I eat is also what makes me well-rounded, but I digress...

So, I might need help when installing something on my laptop, or knowing what to type into a command window (actually, I'm not even sure how to open a command window - what even is a command window??!!), but I guess I should be looking at the bigger picture, here.  As long as I can use technology, maybe I shouldn't be worrying too much about how it all works, or panicking quite so much if something goes wrong.

To all my fellow technophobes (if you've actually managed to navigate your way here to even read this blog): I vote we rely heavily on tech-support and stay away from stuff we don't understand, as much as is humanly possible.  It's fine to enjoy technology without having to focus on how little of it actually makes any sense to you.

Unless you're writing a blog about it, obviously.

Thanks, Dan.