Computer Cave Man It May Be The Information Superhighway, But Real Men Still Don’t Need Directions

I just figured out why so many men can’t find their way around the information highway once they log on. We suffer the same syndrome we face on regular highways. When lost, we’re unable to ask directions.

Women usually blame this on male vanity: We’re too proud and stubborn to admit we’re wrong. I have a different theory. Since we’re no longer able to prove ourselves by slaying wooly mammoths, all we have left as a measure of manhood is to show we can get to where we’re going without asking for help. That and parallel parking in one try.

I’ve been trying to find my way around the Internet for several weeks now and am still lost. The obvious thing to do would be to hire a consultant to come in and teach me. But some primitive part of my brain is convinced that if I did that, word would get around that I was weak and the males in the next cave would push my face in my keyboard and take my computer.

So I just aimlessly click along, occasionally chancing on an interesting web spot, including one the other day called the Yomama page, which I at first thought was about cellists, but turned out to be jokes about people’s mothers. Never say the World Wide Web isn’t elevating civilization.

Actually, I have a second theory why men don’t ask directions. Because usually we don’t understand them anyway, which makes us feel not only lost, but deficient.

This is especially true with computers in general and the Internet in particular. Everything about the Internet is designed with the goal of making laymen feel dim.

Take the moment you dial to get hooked up. The screen tells you when you’re connected, but it doesn’t do this by saying something logical, like “Welcome, you’re connected.” It says “Slip Enabled.” I’ve no idea why.

Then you’re on the Net. As a male, it’s your gender role to know where you’re going, something that first hits you when you at last summon the courage to ask Susie Gordon for a date, and she stuns you by saying yes, at which point you haven’t a clue where to take her. Eventually, you decide, then get lost driving there, but don’t dare ask directions for fear Susie will think you inadequate and go out with Steve Decker instead.

So you’re on the Net with no idea where to go, except that the way to get there - the car if you will - is something called a “search engine,” which is intimidating because it’s your role to know what “engines” are about although you’ve never fathomed the difference between a carburetor and a gas cap.

There is help, though: an on-screen button called “Search Tips.” I expected clear pointers on how to drive around the Internet. I did not get them. I clicked “Search Tips” and the directions read as follows: “Find the matches that contain: At least one of the keys (boolean or); All keys (boolean and.)” Which left me feeling dense as well as lost.

Next, against my better judgment, I clicked a button called “Handbook.” This implied more thorough directions. Bad move. It told me that URLs are where I want to go, but to get there I have to first drive through some HTTPs. Thank you.

At last, I went to a bookstore and bought what I thought would be the simplest road map: “The Internet for Dummies.” I also could have gotten “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to the Internet.” I have one question. If I can’t understand directions written for dummies and idiots, what does that make me? Not real high in male self-esteem, for starters. And people wonder why men don’t ask for directions.

So if anyone asks, I’m heading for some URLs by way of HTTPs so I can stay current with the latest on cellists. Directions? Don’t need them. Of course I’m in control. I’m a guy.