It seems my posting may be a bit more sporadic for a while.
My laptop — or rather, the laptop ‘loaned’ to me by my office so I can ‘work’ at ‘home’, and which has been a part of the living room furniture for the past two years — is dead. And frankly, if I can’t post while watching The Simpsons or South Park, or a Fawlty Towers marathon, then what good am I? It’s all about the inspiration, and what’s inspiring about this clunky desktop computer? The ancient clackety keyboard? The six-year-old tinny speakers? The secret ‘Naughty Babushka Models’ porn stash? No. None of these things can help me now.
(Well, okay — the porn couldn’t hurt, I suppose.
I keep it on my ‘O:’ drive. So I can make the ‘Oh!’ face while I watch. Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!)
(Okay, none of that is true. I’m just a sucker for Office Space. So very sorry.)
Anyway, that’s one less option for posting. Technically, the machine’s not really dead — it’s just sleeping, more or less permanently. I finally lost the battle with the wonky power cord, after months of fighting with it. Sometime back in the spring, it stopped actually juicing up the computer, by default. It would only deliver electricity to the laptop if you asked nicely. And jiggled it. And draped it over the top, just so. And then jiggled it some more. And — you know, this is starting to sound awfully sexual. I think I’m going to stop describing my power cord, lest you get the wrong idea.
(It’s an extension model, though. And ooh, you should see the prongs! And — okay, I said I’d stop. Again with the ‘sorry’.)
Of course, as time went on, the cord got more and more demanding. ‘Wiggle me this way,‘ it said. ‘Jiggle me over there.‘ ‘Don’t let me fall in the floor. Or touch your leg. Or bend to the left.‘ Wah, wah, wah.
Eventually, I bent the damned thing a new sparkhole. Literally, unfortunately. Earlier this week, I adjusted it — rather vigorously, after several failed jiggles — and it sparked, then sizzled, and I smelled burnt plastic. I decided it was probably time to unplug the cord, lest my laptop turn into an impromptu weenie roaster. There are few things more important than blogging, people, but keeping the core temperature of my crotch below ‘broil’ is high on the list. Call me selfish, if you must.
Meanwhile, I’m coping with my lack of entertainment options. I’m used to multitasking in the living room — watching TV, tormenting the dog, eating, maybe working a crossword puzzle. But it’s the interweb that pulls it all together — the always-on, ever-distracting call of blogs and boobs and baseball scores.
(Yes, I know — baseball’s over with. But basketball hasn’t started, and football didn’t offer the alliterative ecstacy I was shooting for. Poetic license, bitches.
And I know there’s more to the interweb than sports, blogs, and boobs, too. I just… don’t know what it is, exactly. I’m just sure it’s out there, somewhere. Waiting for me to get tired of these other things and discover it. I think it has something to do with dancing babies. Or frogs in blenders, or something like that. And money from Microsoft for forwarding emails. I’m really not sure, but I’m a little bit frightened. Hold me.)
So now, I’m not sure what to do to entertain myself on the couch. Paint my toenails, perhaps. Learn Swahili from a phrasebook. Or rediscover my navel. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be simply fascinating. And rewarding, too. Why, I’m sure I won’t even miss that poopy old laptop, anyway.
Yeah, right. Big fat throbbing chance.
I wonder if I could drag my wife’s old G4 downstairs and stash it behind the couch. It’d be tough balancing the keyboard on my lap — and the mouse, and the monitor — but I bet I could pull it off. Anything’s better than sitting in a room without a ‘net connection. Gotta have my fix, man.Permalink | 2 Comments