Brain Drain

            I’m upset. For years I’ve relied on perfectly good scientific evidence to explain my difficulty with math, to excuse my inability to strategize successful chess moves, to support my claim I’m a “word” and not a “numbers” person. Now it appears that the evidence I’ve relied on is neither good nor scientific. A recent article in the Wall Street Journal  (Kosslyn and Miller 10/19-20/13) reveals that the old left-brain/right-brain theory is bogus—nothing more than psycho-babble.

            How can this be? The theory makes so much sense. I mean, all you have to do to prove its veracity is point to the geek who can build a computer out of tin foil and old television antennas but doesn’t know he shouldn't wear black socks with sandals. And how about the artist who can create a museum-worthy masterpiece but can’t navigate his way through the grocery store aisles?

            And if this evidence right before our eyes every single day isn’t enough, there is the academic community paying homage to the left/right-brain claim. As a former teacher, I’ve lost track of the 

Remember the 1990s movie Soap Dish?
Well, all these brain theories are giving
me "brain fever."

number of workshops I attended that divided students into the “intuitive” and the “logical” and offered tactics to bridge those brain gaps. Surely, experts entrusted with the education of our young can’t be wrong!!!

            So if the whole left/right-brain paradigm is unsupported, how has it gained such a stronghold? The WSJ article gave a lot of facts, statistics, and logical explanations about how that happened, but I couldn’t understand them. So I’m going to skip to the part that tells how our brains really work and give my intuitive interpretation.

            If at this point you are reluctant to embrace yet another brain theory, let me put your mind at ease. The top/bottom-brain approach—known as “the theory of cognitive modes”—is built on “decades of unimpeachable research.” Although that research was conducted over fifty years ago, we’re just now hearing about it because it has “largely remained inside scientific circles.” In other words, they kept it a secret until now. Why? The article didn’t say. You’ll have to ask those inside the circles.

            What I understand, though, is that our gray matter is indeed divided—but between top and bottom rather than right and left. Everyone has the same amount of useable brain available to him, but his “mode” depends on whether or not he optimizes both halves of it. I interpret this as if you’re not wildly successful, it’s because you’re a slacker who isn’t using your entire brain to its optimal benefit. The article claims that no one mode is better than another, but come on. I might not be inside any scientific circles, but even I can decipher that a “Mover”—whose top- and bottom-brain systems are both “highly utilized in optional ways”—has it all over the “Adapter”—who basically coasts along using as little brain matter as possible. The remaining modes of “Perceiver” and “Stimulator,” you might have guessed, use their top and bottom brains to varying degrees between the other two modes.

            If you don’t perceive yourself as a Mover, don’t feel bad. The article states that “Each [mode] is useful in different circumstances.” You might be a slacker Adapter, but you can still be “useful.” You can do things like run errands or answer the phone for the high-powered Mover. There. I knew that would make you feel better. At least until the next theory comes along.                 

iScream

             Hubby Bill announced he was going to the AT&T store for a phone update and asked if I would like one, too. I tagged along with mixed emotions—excitement and dread. Yes, it would be nice to have more speed and to take sharper pictures. But entertaining no delusions about my computer skills, I also knew I was in for a lot of frustration.

            To preserve her anonymity and to ensure I don’t get sued, I’ll call the AT&T sales rep Holly. Holly was pleasant and, no doubt about it, knew her stuff. After she sold Bill and me two new iPhone 5s, she downloaded our contacts into them. Then she told us the instruction pamphlet in the box contained everything we needed to know. But I had a question:  “Can I transfer all the photos from my old phone onto this one?”

            Any grandparent will understand the importance of this request. For most of my life, I’ve carried no more than two or three pictures in my wallet, but now I need all 491 of my pics and videos with me at ALL times. I never know when someone will ask to see my grandsons blowing out birthday candles. Or sliding down a slide. Or turning over. Or...You get my point.

            Holly said, “Oh, sure. You can do it through iTunes. It’s simple.”

            Her language shocked me. I couldn't believe she used the s-word: simple.

            AT&T might have done an excellent job training Holly to sell and program phones, but they fell short in the customer-relations department. Did the girl even look at me? Were my gray hair and Clarks sandals and the leopard-print case on my old phone not enough to scream, “BABY BOOMER!”? And did she not know that to a Baby Boomer NOTHING associated with technology is ever REMOTELY simple?

             It’s not that Boomers are stupid. It’s just that, unlike her generation, we weren’t trained to use a computer before we were trained to use the potty. And while they might be able to text with their thumbs, I could teach them a thing or two about using the nominative case of pronouns correctly.

            But not wanting to appear stupid, I asked no more questions and took the phone home.  After hours of googling and searching without transferring a single photo, I returned the next day to the store and to Holly. She patiently punched in some numbers on my phone and explained my pics had been stored on my iCloud. All I had to do was download them. Right. 

Thanks, Apple, for shattering my "cloud" fantasy.

            For all my life, a cloud has been a cottony puff of bliss, associated with floating above life’s problems and experiencing euphoria. But Apple has shattered that fantasy. Now, for me, cloud is just another word for stress. My photos were somewhere, floating on my own, personal iCloud. Obvisously they liked it there, because I couldn’t convince them to leave and take up residence in my new phone.  So three days later, not caring if I appeared stupid, I went back to the store and...success! I have no clue what they did and don’t want to find out. All I know is I have my pics on my new phone, and I’m satisfied.

             But if you yourself don’t want to be shocked, don’t mention the iC-word in my presence.

Just Give Me Books and a Bic and Call Me Old

I try really hard to resist induction into the-older-I-get-the-better-I-was club. But on a recent morning bike ride through the UCO campus (yes, Bill and I were the old fa...olks, swerving to avoid students and cars), I came alarmingly close to qualifying for membership.  

I’d braced myself for the latest campus fashion trend—Daisy Dukes paired with black pantyhose and Doc Martens. According to friend and author Sonia Gensler, this is a hot new look at Oxford. But I spotted no such outfit on the UCO coeds. Either wriggling into pantyhose takes too much time and effort before an early morning class, or this uber style has not yet made it across the  pond. Give it a couple of years. 

While I was prepared for what I thought students would be wearing, I wasn’t prepared for what they were carrying. Or, rather, weren’t carrying. Riding through the campus, I noticed the same thing over and over: students hurrying to class, carrying nothing more cumbersome than a purse or a wallet or a can of Red Bull. No books, no laptops, not even an iPad that I could see. I counted exactly three scholars whom I considered properly prepared for class: an Asian girl toting a book bag, a woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties pulling a wheelie (pretty sure she wasn’t a professor), and—bless his heart—one rather nerdy-looking young man gripping a briefcase. 

When we returned home and were pouring milk over our Raisin Bran, I asked Bill, “Did you notice anything strange about those students this morning?” 

Being a card-carrying member of the aforementioned club, he gave the exact response I was expecting: “Everything about them is strange.” 

Rather than risk an I-don’t-know-what-this-world-is-coming-to lecture, I dropped the subject. But my mind was still churning, and here’s what I determined. A lot has changed on college campuses since the days I roamed them. Where my generation lugged twenty-pound tomes and bulging notebooks to class, today’s students have downloaded all their information on computers. Having read all assignments prior to class and having stored that vital information in their brains, they head to class burden-free, ready for stimulating and thought-provoking dialogue with their professors. OR tucked into their purses or pockets are teeny, tiny computers on which to take notes for further review. OR the class is being pod-cast and they can catch it again in the evening.   

Please assure me that these scenarios are feasible. I try not to dwell on the negative, but occasionally I worry about the future of our youth. And about the future of my Social Security check.