All of my friends who’ve suffered through—or been elated by—a night of dancing to the top 40 of 1928, with the assistance my of very loud Columbia Viva-Tonal, may wonder why I’m so reluctant to move into the modern age.
The simple reason is that every time I attempt to cozy up to technology, it promptly snuggles just close enough to bite me right in the ass.
Which is has done yet again. Tonight I turned on this benighted computer only to sit through ten minutes’ worth of wild screen color changes. I’m assuming that whatever passes these days for a picture tube is going up the creek. It seems to have settled back into its normal color scheme by now, but for a few minutes it was favoring a color most aptly described as “urine”.
This computer is not, by any means, new. However, it’s only about five years old. In my mind, this means it should still work. Those more technologically aware will laugh, snort and point out that I really should have replaced it four years ago. To them I say: Farb you. Why should I have to replace these rather expensive gadgets every eighteen months? So what if improvements are made? Why does this mean the old ones don’t work AT ALL anymore? For Christ’s sake, my record player is SEVENTY-FIVE GODDAMNED YEARS OLD and it still works perfectly well. Improvements were made, technology surpassed it, AND YET IT WORKS. Technology surpassed this crapweasel computer within a year of its manufacture, and now it wants to turn everything the color of beer pee. If obscurity just meant that I couldn’t run the very latest stuff on it, I wouldn’t mind, but in modern TechnoWorld, obscurity means that the whole freaking thing just shuts down because it can’t understand what’s going on.
Typewriters may have nothing more than a speedier version of pen and ink, but at least they had the virtues of finality and mechanic simplicity. If the ribbon wore out, you got a new one. A dead monitor requires a transplant of the sort most often found in Mary Shelley’s oeuvre.
The simple reason is that every time I attempt to cozy up to technology, it promptly snuggles just close enough to bite me right in the ass.
Which is has done yet again. Tonight I turned on this benighted computer only to sit through ten minutes’ worth of wild screen color changes. I’m assuming that whatever passes these days for a picture tube is going up the creek. It seems to have settled back into its normal color scheme by now, but for a few minutes it was favoring a color most aptly described as “urine”.
This computer is not, by any means, new. However, it’s only about five years old. In my mind, this means it should still work. Those more technologically aware will laugh, snort and point out that I really should have replaced it four years ago. To them I say: Farb you. Why should I have to replace these rather expensive gadgets every eighteen months? So what if improvements are made? Why does this mean the old ones don’t work AT ALL anymore? For Christ’s sake, my record player is SEVENTY-FIVE GODDAMNED YEARS OLD and it still works perfectly well. Improvements were made, technology surpassed it, AND YET IT WORKS. Technology surpassed this crapweasel computer within a year of its manufacture, and now it wants to turn everything the color of beer pee. If obscurity just meant that I couldn’t run the very latest stuff on it, I wouldn’t mind, but in modern TechnoWorld, obscurity means that the whole freaking thing just shuts down because it can’t understand what’s going on.
Typewriters may have nothing more than a speedier version of pen and ink, but at least they had the virtues of finality and mechanic simplicity. If the ribbon wore out, you got a new one. A dead monitor requires a transplant of the sort most often found in Mary Shelley’s oeuvre.
posted by Daniel | 12:18 AM
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