A couple of weeks ago everything in our house turned to shit. After undergoing massive repairs to the screened porch (twice, mind you), the car, and replacing our television, the last thing we needed was for one (or both) of our computers to go on the fritz. The Hooey Gods live for those "Last Thing They Need" moments, so both of our computers went on the fritz.
I've had a love/hate relationship with computers since the moment one of them was drug into my happy little apartment about seven or eight years ago. I fought this procedure tooth and nail, telling helpful relatives that I "didn't want or need" a computer in my life, that "life is what happens while the rest of you are on-line" and other such bromides of regrettable nonsense uttered in the ignorance of the non-user.
Within days of having a computer in my life it broke down, and suddenly getting the thing (which I didn't want in the first place) repaired was the sole focus of my attention. It had become my favorite new thing, and the thought of living a single day without the joys of dial-up world wide webbing made me apoplectic.
When I finally bit the bullet and signed up for high speed internet with our Comcastic cable company, I was formally and forever hooked. Instant access to unlimited porn, information, sports, music, films, and adorable kitten videos was more than a lonely bachelor could resist. I began to spend an inordinate amount of my time planted like a fern in front of a flickering monitor, foregoing sleep, sustenance, and companionship in favor of the latest music video by Nickel Creek or the highlight reel from an obscure rugby match in Ireland.
Now that I've started my own event photography bidness, the computer is our financial lifeline, in addition to all of the aforementioned shiny baubles of attention-grabbing distractions. We need this thing to work, and we need it to work now.
That's why this latest techno-spasm has been so frustrating. One my lovely (and dangerous) wife's best friends is a computer tech for the local school system, and from time to time we have to ruin her evenings by begging her to come over and fix whatever snarly mess I've made of things back here on this damned computer. Sometimes I get lectures about surfing in uncharted waters, and sometimes the age and limitations of the computer itself are blamed. But she always gets the thing back up on its feet, and when she leaves I go to work messing it up again.
It was suggested that my ongoing problems could be solved by replacing the worn out hard drive on this computer with something more in line with the work I do for a living. It has super memory capacity, lots of rams and biters and bits (I put that techno talk in there for all of you computer literate people... you're welcome) and promised to be the last thing I would ever need.
And ever since she drove away after making the hard drive installation it's been nothing but a pain in my ass, like a red hot fireplace poker wielded by a deranged proctologist. This morning, after spending most of yesterday wrestling with forgotten passwords, computer names, user codes, and installing software that often didn't seem compatible with my new hardware, the computer wouldn't restart.
I go to bed and everything's fine. I get out of bed six or seven hours later and my monitor has a screen notification saying "Sorry to tell you this, but you're fucked today!" on it.
I announced to my lovely wife that I was "over it" and was headed to Staples or Best Buy or Computers-R-Us for a new tower, and added a few expletives and exclamation marks to my sentence on my way to the shower.
I cursed, loudly, the entire time I was under the shower, as if to underscore just how serious I was about replacing this entire screwed up system. I dressed, marched back in here to yank the plug one last time, and discovered my home page was waiting for me to tell it what to do. It was as if the damn thing had suddenly developed a sense of self-preservation.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear the disembodied voice of HAL, calmly suggesting I might want to take a stress pill.
"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do... I'm half crazy all for the love of you..."
I figure any day now this bastard is going to figure out a way to lock us out of our own house...
I've had a love/hate relationship with computers since the moment one of them was drug into my happy little apartment about seven or eight years ago. I fought this procedure tooth and nail, telling helpful relatives that I "didn't want or need" a computer in my life, that "life is what happens while the rest of you are on-line" and other such bromides of regrettable nonsense uttered in the ignorance of the non-user.
Within days of having a computer in my life it broke down, and suddenly getting the thing (which I didn't want in the first place) repaired was the sole focus of my attention. It had become my favorite new thing, and the thought of living a single day without the joys of dial-up world wide webbing made me apoplectic.
When I finally bit the bullet and signed up for high speed internet with our Comcastic cable company, I was formally and forever hooked. Instant access to unlimited porn, information, sports, music, films, and adorable kitten videos was more than a lonely bachelor could resist. I began to spend an inordinate amount of my time planted like a fern in front of a flickering monitor, foregoing sleep, sustenance, and companionship in favor of the latest music video by Nickel Creek or the highlight reel from an obscure rugby match in Ireland.
Now that I've started my own event photography bidness, the computer is our financial lifeline, in addition to all of the aforementioned shiny baubles of attention-grabbing distractions. We need this thing to work, and we need it to work now.
That's why this latest techno-spasm has been so frustrating. One my lovely (and dangerous) wife's best friends is a computer tech for the local school system, and from time to time we have to ruin her evenings by begging her to come over and fix whatever snarly mess I've made of things back here on this damned computer. Sometimes I get lectures about surfing in uncharted waters, and sometimes the age and limitations of the computer itself are blamed. But she always gets the thing back up on its feet, and when she leaves I go to work messing it up again.
It was suggested that my ongoing problems could be solved by replacing the worn out hard drive on this computer with something more in line with the work I do for a living. It has super memory capacity, lots of rams and biters and bits (I put that techno talk in there for all of you computer literate people... you're welcome) and promised to be the last thing I would ever need.
And ever since she drove away after making the hard drive installation it's been nothing but a pain in my ass, like a red hot fireplace poker wielded by a deranged proctologist. This morning, after spending most of yesterday wrestling with forgotten passwords, computer names, user codes, and installing software that often didn't seem compatible with my new hardware, the computer wouldn't restart.
I go to bed and everything's fine. I get out of bed six or seven hours later and my monitor has a screen notification saying "Sorry to tell you this, but you're fucked today!" on it.
I announced to my lovely wife that I was "over it" and was headed to Staples or Best Buy or Computers-R-Us for a new tower, and added a few expletives and exclamation marks to my sentence on my way to the shower.
I cursed, loudly, the entire time I was under the shower, as if to underscore just how serious I was about replacing this entire screwed up system. I dressed, marched back in here to yank the plug one last time, and discovered my home page was waiting for me to tell it what to do. It was as if the damn thing had suddenly developed a sense of self-preservation.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear the disembodied voice of HAL, calmly suggesting I might want to take a stress pill.
"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do... I'm half crazy all for the love of you..."
I figure any day now this bastard is going to figure out a way to lock us out of our own house...






































