Being an instructional designer has sucked the enjoyment out of life - Oh I don't mean my work-life balanace and the existential issues of being a working mom and all of that - that's fodder for another blog. No, I mean that as a learning developer, it is my job to demystify and simplify material and make sure it is put forth creatively and effectively. This is what interferes with life, which is neither intuitive nor simple.
Take an example. I go to watch an eminently watchable movie like Barfi. But can I enjoy the multi-media challenged comic hero who more than makes up with his super-kinesthetic prowess? Oh no. Throughout the movie I have two devils sitting on each shoulder bayoneting each other through my head.
"It's chronologically confusing, so when exactly was Jhilmil supposedly kidnapped and murdered - In the distant past, the not-so-distant past, the present or the future?" the learning developer in me rants.
"That's poetic licence," the other me responds.
"It's inconsistent - Barfi can engrave names of customers on stainless steel vessels using a steel gun, but can't write his own?" the learning developer pouts.
"Oh, don't be such a damp squib and a nitpick," says the other me.
"It's blatantly plagiarised, calling it Chaplinesque is one thing, lifting whole scenes entirely another! By that logic, we can all write Shakespearesque poetry," thunders the learning developer.
"But it's good, clean fun," whispers the regular me in a small voice.
No points for guessing who wins these shoulder-level diatribes every time.
When my daughter regales me with the scarily complicated love triangles, quadrilaterals, and other nameless polygons in her seventh grade class, can I just smile indulgently at these silly little pre-teen romances? No, draw me a visual flowchart I hear myself saying, I can't keep up with who has a crush on whom any more!
When my mother tells me a recipe, my mind does not accept vagaries like "as much salt as needed". It needs a precise amount. I need to know whether to use skimmed milk for a pudding or regular - 'whatever is in the fridge' isn't good enough.
Typos on signboards irritate me (except when they're hilarious like the 'multi-cousin' restaurant we saw in Mount Abu recently - you know the one where you take the numerous cousins who descend on you during Diwali), obscure and incorrect menus, web sites that make me click and click to no end, pixellated images all aggravate me.
Oh well, every job has its hazards, and these are mine. I just wish I had read the fine print.
Take an example. I go to watch an eminently watchable movie like Barfi. But can I enjoy the multi-media challenged comic hero who more than makes up with his super-kinesthetic prowess? Oh no. Throughout the movie I have two devils sitting on each shoulder bayoneting each other through my head.
"It's chronologically confusing, so when exactly was Jhilmil supposedly kidnapped and murdered - In the distant past, the not-so-distant past, the present or the future?" the learning developer in me rants.
"That's poetic licence," the other me responds.
"It's inconsistent - Barfi can engrave names of customers on stainless steel vessels using a steel gun, but can't write his own?" the learning developer pouts.
"Oh, don't be such a damp squib and a nitpick," says the other me.
"It's blatantly plagiarised, calling it Chaplinesque is one thing, lifting whole scenes entirely another! By that logic, we can all write Shakespearesque poetry," thunders the learning developer.
"But it's good, clean fun," whispers the regular me in a small voice.
No points for guessing who wins these shoulder-level diatribes every time.
When my daughter regales me with the scarily complicated love triangles, quadrilaterals, and other nameless polygons in her seventh grade class, can I just smile indulgently at these silly little pre-teen romances? No, draw me a visual flowchart I hear myself saying, I can't keep up with who has a crush on whom any more!
When my mother tells me a recipe, my mind does not accept vagaries like "as much salt as needed". It needs a precise amount. I need to know whether to use skimmed milk for a pudding or regular - 'whatever is in the fridge' isn't good enough.
Typos on signboards irritate me (except when they're hilarious like the 'multi-cousin' restaurant we saw in Mount Abu recently - you know the one where you take the numerous cousins who descend on you during Diwali), obscure and incorrect menus, web sites that make me click and click to no end, pixellated images all aggravate me.
Oh well, every job has its hazards, and these are mine. I just wish I had read the fine print.
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