Blogspot, first Apple computers to feature Intel processors.
When babies in ancient Judea inexplicably died in their cribs, stricken parents could always leave it to Rabbi to blame the supernatural (Lilith did it!). Hard drive failure is the Circuit City version of such a death-from-nowhere (we call it SIDS), making it especially ripe for wacky hypothetical jaunts into the eye of Fate. As such, I posed a number of questions to myself:
Did the so-called 'blue screen of death' herald the effective spiritual end of my college career? Is it why I've stopped hanging out with everyone? If it is, am I now a member of the real-world? Should I attempt fixing this computer, since, on the flipside of that metaphor, it would mean mucking through the real-world with the shattered shell of a collegiate mindset still dedicated to the ideal that 'Tuesday is the new Thursday is the new Friday'? Is it finally time for a Mac?
The memory of a freshman year alarm clock that died sometime during my last exam in the May of 2004 further buttressed my belief that, 'Yes. This means something.' After all, the ending of freshman year demanded the death of an alarm clock. The death of college logically demands an even bigger sacrifice*.
Unfortunately, the postal service doesn't operate on Sundays, which pushes back the expected delivery of a laptop restoration CD from California by a day. Toshiba charged me an insane 5-7 day shipping cost of $40, so I'm expecting more of a laserdisc than a CD. Ugh. Laptops are such a pain in the ass.
*In my mind, that sentence conjures a scene of an Aztec temple where a priest rips out the still whirring CPU from the bound laptop while a stream of liquid crystal flows down the steep temple steps for the dogs to lick up.
When babies in ancient Judea inexplicably died in their cribs, stricken parents could always leave it to Rabbi to blame the supernatural (Lilith did it!). Hard drive failure is the Circuit City version of such a death-from-nowhere (we call it SIDS), making it especially ripe for wacky hypothetical jaunts into the eye of Fate. As such, I posed a number of questions to myself:
Did the so-called 'blue screen of death' herald the effective spiritual end of my college career? Is it why I've stopped hanging out with everyone? If it is, am I now a member of the real-world? Should I attempt fixing this computer, since, on the flipside of that metaphor, it would mean mucking through the real-world with the shattered shell of a collegiate mindset still dedicated to the ideal that 'Tuesday is the new Thursday is the new Friday'? Is it finally time for a Mac?
The memory of a freshman year alarm clock that died sometime during my last exam in the May of 2004 further buttressed my belief that, 'Yes. This means something.' After all, the ending of freshman year demanded the death of an alarm clock. The death of college logically demands an even bigger sacrifice*.
Unfortunately, the postal service doesn't operate on Sundays, which pushes back the expected delivery of a laptop restoration CD from California by a day. Toshiba charged me an insane 5-7 day shipping cost of $40, so I'm expecting more of a laserdisc than a CD. Ugh. Laptops are such a pain in the ass.
*In my mind, that sentence conjures a scene of an Aztec temple where a priest rips out the still whirring CPU from the bound laptop while a stream of liquid crystal flows down the steep temple steps for the dogs to lick up.
posted by Byron at 11:50 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home