By Jim Mullen
NEA Columnist
Remember when James Bond out-golfed Goldfinger by one stroke? Bond never practiced, but he played golf like a pro. I play golf twice a week, and I get worse.
Bond walks through the Q’s laboratory, picks up the latest gadget and knows how it works instantly - without ever having read the manual. I can’t even do something on my cell phone with the instructions in front of me.
It takes me 15 minutes in a rental car to figure out how to turn on the lights and the radio and adjust the seats. Jimmy B jumps into the world’s newest and most sophisticated fighter jet and, never having seen it before, he flies it like a Blue Angel.
Yes, I hate him.
I go to a casino and I lose every single hand, every roll of the dice. Bond? It’s like the place is his personal cash machine. He knows all the dealers and all the bartenders. He’s just come to withdraw a few hundred thousand dollars.
The computer I’ve been using for years still figures out new and exciting ways to frustrate me. Bond walks into a strange office and downloads secret files onto a hard disk disguised as a mole on his cheek with the aid of a paper clip and a fountain pen. Could he please come to my house and get my printer and my computer to talk to one another?
