A couple of weeks ago I got my first brand new laptop since 1998ish. Technically it is a netbook, of the Asus dual-core netbooks, and it is shiny red and fast. The laptop I've been using since 2004ish is one I bought used on eBay and belonged to a university professor in California. I know this because his network connections weren't wiped--his name and school were still attached--and the information was unique enough that I was able to find evidence of the man's actual identity.
I felt like Computer Columbo that day, my friends.
So since I got this shiny thing I've been putting off using it. First I had to install MS Office, and then I had to do all the updates and figure out how to use IE9. Ugh, I still haven't reinstalled Final Draft.
It's true. People, in past lives, have paid me to fix computers, administer servers, maintain databases (poorly), yet I am exceedingly stubborn about upgrading my own gear. It frustrates Jer something awful.
This morning is the first morning internet silence is being enforced on my poor laptop. The first morning we limit its unlimitness and teach it to be alone.
From 9am to noon, I have Jer shutting off my internet access automatically. How, I wonder, will its detachment from a greater consciousness be perceived? Will the silence drive my baby mad? Will it be forced to look within and find nothing but cold, lifeless gears clicking an endless Morse code of abandonment? And then, when confronted with its own hollow and pointless void, how will it react? Will it quiver in subservience, zero out its own drive, or lash out at the smug humans who bore it?
I grieve for your lost innocence, shiny red thing.
Or maybe, just maybe, I should brew some coffee now.