Thursday, October 28, 2004
Gog or Magog?
I forget which is which -- the Red Sox are Gog and the Cubs are Magog? Or is it the other way around? If the Abomination of Desolation spoken of by the prophet Danny is in our midst (World Series trophy housed in Beantown), then my neck is going to start aching as I anxiously scan the eastern heavens.
You doubt my end times insight? Do I need to remind you that the Heavens itself swallowed up the silver orb of normalcy last night?
You doubt my end times insight? Do I need to remind you that the Heavens itself swallowed up the silver orb of normalcy last night?
Friday, October 01, 2004
A new old laptop
After eleven months in the shop, it finally returns to me. This problem-child laptop, this prodigal which has tired of supping on swine swill, has come slouching home. And it comes home freely, as in with no payment due.
The saga of this machine is indeed fraught with terror and confusion. It came to me used, and not without scars. No cover for the optical drive. No little lights operational above the keyboard. A battery in name only. Just as soon as those little cosmetics were cleaned up XP let me know that it wasn’t a legal, registered copy. And there was the little quirk or the disappearing DVD drive when it came out of standby or hibernation. Still, quirks are rarely more than minor annoyances, and with those you care about quirks become lovable marks of uniqueness.
But then it stopped. I was cleaning up the study and listening to people running for Denver city counsel (someone kindly financed a DVD containing taped interviews of every candidate. Very informative), and the computer just stopped. It wouldn’t power up on A/C. It would run fine from the battery, though, which meant I could get the information I needed from it before bidding it farewell to that far-away land.
William thought the problem would be quick to solve. He promised it would be ready in a week. Then he found that Gateway doesn’t like working with independent repair folks. Then he discovered that the Holstein crew only made this particular model for one year and no ones still makes the parts it needed. After a few dead-end leads about parted out machines in Tibetan villages, he persuaded some mythical morlock named Ivan to come in and make use of his magical soldering skills. All the while I would call about once a month or stop by after work to listen to all the troubles he was having putting this thing together. He would nervously tap a clove cigarette out of the box and light up while shrugging under the NO SMOKING sign. He would pick up the pieces of the laptop, turn it over and point at this connection and that dangling circuitboard. He set down the pieces on his crowded workbench, rubbed cigarette ash off the black case, and tried to infuse some hope and convince me that we were looking at a short timeframe. Just around the corner. Next week.
Next week turned into 8 months. I eventually realized that even if the computer wasn’t working, we should end this year-long relationship for all our sakes. The computer worked, but the screen was still a little funky sometimes. I drove down to the shop three times: first to find it locked up tight, next to find that Will had misplaced the power chord and didn’t have a suitable replacement hidden in the piles of wires around the store, and finally, after calling ahead to make sure that everything was cool, only to discover that he had misplaced the battery. As we backed out of the parking space, Stacy noticed his head poke out of the door and motion me to come back in. All parts accounted for, including the Eagle Creek bag it originally wore into the store.
So now this machine is our kitchen workstation. It will soon be networked to the DSL modem and allow kids to do school, Stacy to email, and the kitchen to receive streaming audio from around the world. Final price for all the repairs? Nuthin besides the pain and annoyance of a year in the shop, a price I should note is just fine under the current budget.
The saga of this machine is indeed fraught with terror and confusion. It came to me used, and not without scars. No cover for the optical drive. No little lights operational above the keyboard. A battery in name only. Just as soon as those little cosmetics were cleaned up XP let me know that it wasn’t a legal, registered copy. And there was the little quirk or the disappearing DVD drive when it came out of standby or hibernation. Still, quirks are rarely more than minor annoyances, and with those you care about quirks become lovable marks of uniqueness.
But then it stopped. I was cleaning up the study and listening to people running for Denver city counsel (someone kindly financed a DVD containing taped interviews of every candidate. Very informative), and the computer just stopped. It wouldn’t power up on A/C. It would run fine from the battery, though, which meant I could get the information I needed from it before bidding it farewell to that far-away land.
William thought the problem would be quick to solve. He promised it would be ready in a week. Then he found that Gateway doesn’t like working with independent repair folks. Then he discovered that the Holstein crew only made this particular model for one year and no ones still makes the parts it needed. After a few dead-end leads about parted out machines in Tibetan villages, he persuaded some mythical morlock named Ivan to come in and make use of his magical soldering skills. All the while I would call about once a month or stop by after work to listen to all the troubles he was having putting this thing together. He would nervously tap a clove cigarette out of the box and light up while shrugging under the NO SMOKING sign. He would pick up the pieces of the laptop, turn it over and point at this connection and that dangling circuitboard. He set down the pieces on his crowded workbench, rubbed cigarette ash off the black case, and tried to infuse some hope and convince me that we were looking at a short timeframe. Just around the corner. Next week.
Next week turned into 8 months. I eventually realized that even if the computer wasn’t working, we should end this year-long relationship for all our sakes. The computer worked, but the screen was still a little funky sometimes. I drove down to the shop three times: first to find it locked up tight, next to find that Will had misplaced the power chord and didn’t have a suitable replacement hidden in the piles of wires around the store, and finally, after calling ahead to make sure that everything was cool, only to discover that he had misplaced the battery. As we backed out of the parking space, Stacy noticed his head poke out of the door and motion me to come back in. All parts accounted for, including the Eagle Creek bag it originally wore into the store.
So now this machine is our kitchen workstation. It will soon be networked to the DSL modem and allow kids to do school, Stacy to email, and the kitchen to receive streaming audio from around the world. Final price for all the repairs? Nuthin besides the pain and annoyance of a year in the shop, a price I should note is just fine under the current budget.
