Rigged

The last thing I expected on vacation was to have to get used to a new computer. It almost figures that, at 10:15 a.m. on my first official day (weekends don’t count), I booted the writing rig ... and nothing happened.

Strangely, I did not freak out. I called to Ter:”My computer’s dead.”

From the living room: “What?”

“My computer’s dead. I just pushed the button and nothing happened.”

She appeared immediately in my doorway. “Nothing?”

“Nope.” I jabbed the button a couple more times, just to be sure. Still nothing.

“We’ll have to get you a new one,” she declared.

I agreed—but this did not stop us from sitting down at my desk (she in the chair, me on the floor) and staring at the old box for a few minutes as if waiting for it to resurrect itself.

A brand new writing box is unnecessary. A used one suits me fine. I only use it for writing, so no need for fancy software, a ton of memory, or an über-graphics capability. My first one was bought new in 1994. The second one was inherited after an office upgrade. The third and fourth were both bought used from a local place that refurbishes as well as builds new rigs, and supplies the parts if you want to build your own. It’s an odd place, populated by geeks who are awkward with people, especially girls, but the product is usually sound.

As we were going into town anyway, we left a little early and dropped by the shop. It doesn’t take long to pick a new writing computer. All I need is a desktop PC with some version of Windows and MS Office. Box No. 5 is a step up by running Windows 7; its predecessor ran XP, so I’m finally caught up to the twenty-first century. After a brief chat with the kid behind the counter, who ran a test boot to ensure that the box I bought was indeed working, I produced my plastic and set off with my prize.

We run Office 2010 on the big rig, but have neither a backup disk (we downloaded it from the internet) nor the rackinfrackin product code that would have enabled me to burn a copy. I had it once, but at this late date you must be kidding. So, back to the shop, where I’d noticed a copy of Office 2007 for home use under glass. Bought that, and another mouse since the one I had wasn’t USB slot-friendly, then returned home to finish the set up.

Starbucks is not the evil empire, my friends. Micro Soft is. Installation was a breeze, but the Activation Wizard appeared and refused to let me go further without verifying the software. Oh, I could do it later, but be forewarned: after 24 boots, “some features may not be available to you”. I couldn’t believe it (yet I could): my own computer was threatening to foil me if I didn’t comply! $%&%#&*%# Bill Gates!

Ter brought me my phone and wisely left the room. I dialled the 1-800 number and got Siri’s boyfriend, who walked me through the eight-part activation and confirmation sequence. You’d better believe I wrote it all down for future reference! There’s no point in stroking out over it, I know. What really matters is that I’m up and running. I spent the next hour or so configuring my defaults and setting up my files, then shut everything down—including myself—for the night.

I was up, however, at 6:30 this morning. Guess I needed some quiet time to wake up the newbie and see if my default Word settings stuck. (They didn’t.) I’ve reset them and hope they’ll stay around now that I’ve actually written something using the new template. I am also planning to write a completely new story while I get familiar with an unfamiliar system.

Only it’s not unfamiliar at all. Now my writing computer mirrors my work computer and the similarity is so unsettling that I chose to switch up the colours just to remind myself that this computer means fun!

Sync or Swim

 

Technology bytes. I mean, bites. It wants to be my friend and I’m happy holding it at arm’s length. Like many relationships with promising starts, my relationship with technology has evolved into one of frustrating co-dependence. Sometimes it’s great. Sometimes I feel like I’m being held hostage by Bill Gates.

 

Okay, Bill is not the whole problem. Actually, maybe he is. Three computers dominate my life: my government-issued computer at work, the “big” computer at home, which is hooked into the Internet, and my writing computer, which is hooked into my imagination and kept in isolation from errant viruses and other cyber-borne pathogens. A USB flash drive transports the entire body of my literary work, projects both completed and in progress, between PCs so when some predictably inevitable misfortune occurs, my writing will not be lost forever.

 

My office desktop was new in 2007 and runs Windows Vista (don’t ask). My home computer was new in 2008 and runs Windows 7. My writing computer was bought used a hundred years ago and runs Windows XP. I am by necessity proficient with three different versions of MS Word, though I still lament the demise of Word Perfect as the world’s best word processing software. WP aside, everything was running fairly smoothly until I started an online blog via the Google server. I say “fairly” because the keyboard on the “big” computer has an annoying tendency to ignore certain keystrokes – the question mark, for instance, shows up as É onscreen, quotation marks slant the wrong way, and the @ symbol sometimes refuses to show up at all, which makes it darned difficult to sign into my Google account even though the “big” computer is the only one from which I can post anything. My work computer speaks to the Internet, but it’s rather like speaking Québecois in Paris – the language sounds the same to the uninformed ear, but the Parisian has no idea what the French-Canadian is trying to say. In short, when I log into my email account from the office, I get an error message that my browser is too old to handle the current version of whatever Google is using to power Blogger, so I can forget about setting up a post during a break in my workday ... at least until my employer upgrades to Windows 7.

 

And with the wonky keyboard on the “big” computer, blog content must be written on my XP rig and transferred by flash drive to whichever vehicle will get me to the site with a minimum of cyber-shenanigans. Three computers. Three, when I once swore never to own one.

 

One night I caught a blurb supporting the restoration of classic films to blu-ray so we can all enjoy the oldies as they were meant to be enjoyed. Uh-huh. I said to Ter, “Can we wait for what comes after blu-ray so we only have to upgrade once more?” We finally had to shift our video library from VHS to DVD, yet have so far held out against the blu-ray phenomenon – though I watch with morbid fascination the industry’s push to plant an 80-inch 3-D Smart-TV in the teeny-tiny living room of every crackerbox condo occupied by a victim of technological Attention Deficit Disorder.

 

Despite the rant, I recognize the benefits of technology. Truly, I do. I am grateful for (most of) it every day. Managing the monster is the tricky part, and the monster lies within the operator rather than the machinery. I could succumb to the hype that accompanies every shiny new toy that hits the market. I could spend twenty-five hours a day glued to the monitor and completely ignore the carbon-based unit who shares my living space. I could be more interested in the view halfway around the world instead of the view outside my window … my “real” window, not my digitally-enhanced one. I don’t know that it would enrich my life the way real books and real people and face-to-face conversations do, however. It’s good for keeping in touch with loved ones abroad. It’s been good for my arthritis, given that I used to write my stories in longhand with a Bic ballpoint. It’s even been good for business, though when the network crashes, the whole office shuts down until further notice because no one remembers how we did business without computers. But is it good for us as people? My answer is to get this piece ready for posting, then I’m going to hug my best friend.

 

Oh, heck. I’m going to hug her first.