This is the second in a series of episodes, chronicling the shocking disappearance of the blog, "Mark's Work," thought at first to be simply overcome by cannabis, and certain to be found at the nearest pizza parlor. Or possibly the blog was moved by a particularly poignant episode of, "When the Scissors Trim." How wrong we all were and there's nothing more that needs to be said, except for maybe a generic statement of a techie nature. No more than twenty volumes. Hopefully.
Tech for Tots (Beginners' Version)
Lost in [Cyber] Space
“This computer will no longer receive Google Chrome updates because Mac OS X 10.6, 10.7 and 10.8 will no longer be supported. Learn more.”
I stared at the message on Terra Jean’s screen in uncomprehending horror, certain that although the words had no meaning to me, they did come with a price tag. High tabs come with the territory, so when an expensive whip breaks down, it’s going to take more than an oil change and lube job to get her on the road again.
Poor Terra Jean, I thought. Going to hell on a tow truck and no longer enjoying the ride, which began almost five years ago when my little sister JT took pity on my tortured soul, and outright bought me a brand new MacBookPro.
|My backyard is not that of your conventional tract home.|
Since that moment when I strapped the seat belt on and began our journey together, I have known that this time would come, and an engine rebuild was not going to suffice. Not only have I have worn the paint off of seven keys, but I have watched, horrified, as poor TJ toppled off of a chest-high step-ladder out in the backyard, and plummeted upside down in slow motion, without a parachute, landing mouse-pad first on a basketball-sized chunk of rock.
I could Bondo her bruised case and soothe her bruised ego, but there was nothing I could do about the damage to Terra Jean's insides.
What was TJ doing hanging out in the back yard in the first place? She was providing me with music, back in the Dark Ages before I discovered Pandora on my telephone. As cumbersome as it was, my need for music took precedence over common sense, not one of my stronger suits to begin with, and I had no one to blame but myself for all ensuing difficulties.
The net result of all this calamity is that when my blog disappeared, I recognized that the time had come to commit poor Terra Jean to the wrecking yard and bring in a new model. Issues, there were in four-part harmony, and nothing was going to get the music back on track short of a new computer.
The fact is that I did not “lose” my blog because of Terra Jean’s obsolescence, I lost it because of
a combination of improper alignment of the planets and a simultaneous revolt by a handful of rogue computer chips from deep down under my negligence.
At least that is as good of an explanation as any. When it comes to technology, ignorance is bliss and too much information is comparable to consuming one burrito too many at lunch, and will result in technical difficulties of an explosive nature.
So the solution was to fill a wheelbarrow with loot, and trot on down to the greater metropolitan arena of Santa Rosa, where JT and I set out to replace TJ. Proving that combining business with pleasure is always a good idea, my little sister and I spent much of the day together, beginning with our foray into the computer shop to plunk down more than two large in small, unmarked bills, for a new MacBookPro.
The loot had been laboriously accrued over the previous six months, in a variety of ways ranging from-gasp-actually working, to selling chicken eggs to neighbors. Now I was ready to move forward after marking time since last October. I would just waltz into that computer shop like the Pro from Dover, nod sagely at all of the wise advice, plunk down my cabbage and vamoose as quickly as a bobcat from the chicken yard.
Unfortunately, I better resembled the Pro from El Monte.
There was just one insignificant detail that I failed to take fully into consideration when I hatched the plot. Actually there were numerous blatant details that I deliberately ignored out of shear survival, but let’s not get picky here. After all, my grasp of technology is as sure as a thin projection of snow, built up on the tip of a tiny twig.
The one detail I could not get around was the fact that it was impossible to fake it when it came to the transference of all the applications and data from Terra Jean, to that upstart who was replacing her.
In appearance there was very little difference between the two devices, except that one was laden with 40,000 photos and probably a half-million words, while the other sat there primping and smiling demurely, blissfully unaware of what was in store for her.
Well, there’ll come a time Suzy Puente.
The knowledgeable and friendly clerk pulled the wool over my gullible eyes so efficiently, that I thanked him for the experience, and walked out with a new computer, a new external hard drive and a glazed expression on my face that had nothing to do with doughnuts.
He said it was as easy as giving a couple of commands and letting Terra Jean’s replacement do the work. “You got this!” he enthused. At least I got the satisfaction out of kicking her tires and nodding definitively at the sales clerk, who cleverly concealed his smirk as he expertly counted my stacks.
I was already writing my inaugural blog post inside my swollen cantaloupe head, detailing how suave and debonaire I was-not to mention jaunty-as I strutted out of that tech shop without stepping on a single land mind and blowing myself up.
Unfortunately, the shop was the only part of the minefield that I managed to traverse unscathed. The rest of the way makes the Bataan Death March look like a day with the Bobbsey Twins.
Tomorrow: In which I go from dazed to confused to catatonic….