tech therapy

For the past couple of weeks I have been having an affair. It is intense, emotional, obsessive and fraught.

I know what you're thinking: 1) at last, she's going to write something interesting and b) poor Turk is going to be devastated.

Wrong on both counts. The first point is self-evident and as to the second, Turk is completely acquiescent.

"I'm expecting another call from Trevor," I tell him.

"Didn't you just talk to him for a couple of hours yesterday?" he inquires.

"Yes," I say defensively. "But we haven't dealt with all of our issues yet."

"OK," he says.

"Couldn't you be even a little bit jealous?" I ask. I mean, after all.

"Hey ~ you gotta do what you gotta do," he shrugs, not glancing up from the crossword puzzle. Too true. The heart wants what it wants. And mine wants a functioning computer.

Trevor (name changed to protect the innocent) is a true knight in shining armor over at HP, whose customer service is utterly beyond reproach. In fact, I would recommend their product to anyone wholeheartedly just so that they too could deal with the likes of Trevor if it were not for, well, you know; The Operating System That Shall Not Be Named. And in this we are all in agreement at last ~ the good folks at Epson, Abobe, Corel, HP, NAACP, the AFL CIO etc. etc ~ that said system is at fault. And it is making me very sad.

But not Trevor. Trevor calls me at scheduled days and times to see how changes we made together are affecting performance. When they do not work, as they invariably do not, he holds my hand and reassures me as I log on, log off, boot, reboot, go into the registry, toggle settings and generally just beg the OSTSNBN to behave. We have developed a relationship, Trevor and I. We share a sense of humor, and a certain net-based paranoia. He, like me, was an art history major in college, in his case with an eye toward a career in architecture. He went on to understand and embrace the beauty and wonder that is computer technology. I took an oath to embrace my inner Amish.

No matter. We are friends. We trust each other. If he lived closer and not in Oregon I envision he and his girlfriend, Tracey, and Turk and I enjoying many a backyard bbq, drinking wine and discussing the merits of Gaudi and Neutra, PC and Mac. How we'd laugh...

The day before yesterday, all else having failed, we decided it was time to do a system recovery in the hopes of turning back the clock to a time when my lovely HP Desktop was as pure and virginal as the day it was born; a mere twinkle in Bill Gates' eye.

"Don't forget to back up your files," warned Trevor, again and again. "You've got all your graphic files. You do not want to lose them."

"I won't," I assured him.

And I didn't. Except that I did.

I was sure I had burned the document and picture files to CD. I have done it successfully often enough in the past. As it turns out, however, I had somehow managed to burn the path to the files, and not the files themselves. This is my fault, and mine alone. I cannot even blame TOSTSNBN for this one, as much as I'd like to. I am just a moron. And now, a moron without pictures. Every photo, every video, every project in progress; every graphic image ever taken, stored or created by me since April is gone, with the rare exception of the few posted here. Untold hours of work and energy and love and tears evaporated with a stroke of the keyboard. I was inconsolable.

When Trevor called yesterday, as per arrangement, my voice shook as I told him the news. "Oh, NO!" he cried, sounding quite as shocked and devastated as I felt, even as he proceeded to talk me down from the ledge.

I bought another gig of memory, and it's due to arrive this week. Trevor is going to call me Saturday to talk me through the installation. So it looks like I won't be able to make the show after all, Robbie.* I'm sorry, but the heart wants what it wants.


Oh! Darling, if you leave me
I'll never make it alone
Believe me when I beg you
Don't ever leave me alone

Oh! Darling, if you leave me
I'll never make it alone
Believe me when I tell you
I'll never do you no harm

Oh! Darling,please believe me
I'll never let you down
Believe me when I tell you
I'll never do you no harm

~ the Beatles






*just kidding!

I used to be an Existentialist...

now I'm just irresolute.

Pearls Before Swine

I awoke upon yesterday's bright and sunny New Year's morn, chillingly sober and frighteningly clear of eye, finding myself wanting to post but having nothing to say. Not that that's ever stopped me before.

But I don't make New Year's resolutions, believing change happens throughout the course of a year in accordance with each individual's needs and desires. Also, I never keep them anyway. I may be vowing to spend less time on the computer, (or at least arguing with it) but I can't seem to pull myself away from the keyboard long enough to frame the thought. It's a conundrum.

And not for me the ubiquitous Year-In-Retrospective-Blog. I find reading my own Pearls of Wisdom Past tedious in the extreme, and also slightly embarrassing, what with them being neither, you know, pearly nor wise. Merely past.

But Christmas is over; I have been dazzled by diamonds, and a trail of French perfume follows me wherever I go. (Truth be told, it also precedes me ~ I really love perfume.) Now it seems there is nothing left to do but to take down that sprig of rosemary I draped with lights and bells and called a tree (it's a Christmas miracle, Charlie Brown!) and eagerly anticipate the appearance of one more bouncing bauble ~ a new Wacom Bamboo Fun Graphics Tablet in Silver, Size Medium, Tracking number 11175872331!* Now, I realize that not everyone gets a Tracking Number for Christmas, but I do. It seems that Santa Turk, bless his great big Luddite heart, actually braved the joyful throngs at Best Buy to find what he says sounds like a Chinese, lead-filled toy for toddlers, but couldn't get the right size. So I now happily await the delivery of tons of Bamboo Fun.

And so help me Bill Gates, if the (Operating System That Shall Not Be Named) cannot handle all my Bamboo Fun, I will not be responsible for the consequences. And that's a resolution.

Happy New Year!


*may not be actual tracking number, actual tracking number having already been misplaced.