Tech for Tots or Lost in [Cyber] Space-Episode 6

Stick a fork in me-I'm done...

This is the sixth and, mercifully, the final 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. 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

or 

Lost in [Cyber] Space-Episode 6

My ineptitude at technology belies the fact that you have been reading this whole sordid account on my new and improved blog, one of life’s signposts indicating that something right has occurred.

We left our battered protagonist vainly trying to hide from the world under his blankets in the last installment, so I need to fill in a couple of relevant details in order to get him sprung.

Prior to taking up residence in bed, a spot not known for granting me much sleep, I had posted two terse emails to Joe. One simply stated, “I cannot access face/book because it will not accept my password. Sigh.” The second one said,” I wish I had not let go of my old computer. I may come down in the AM and get it. Security blanket, you know.”

I had known the transition would be challenging, but I had expected the challenge to center on the blog, and not what I had already in place. In my world the unexpected has come to represent my greatest challenge.

I never understood why the blog disappeared in the first place so I would not have been shocked if it were irretrievable. Through no fault of my own, I messed with the bull and got the horns. But to not be able to resolve the password issue also was just too much.

I was hoping I could buy my way out of my tech difficulties through the acquisition of a new machine but it was looking as though such would not be the case. What I was not expecting was to suddenly find that what I had going for me would also be removed.

I now had no access to my blog, no access to social media and no access to my photos on my new computer. Strike one. Strike two. Strike three, you are out of here.

Joe was not even home from my house when I sent off those two messages, so I had already crashed and burned by the time he sent out a lifeline in the form of an email message. In it he said he could get my f/b account back if I would just turn on my sleeping computer and activate Teamviewer so that he could access the hard-drive of the new computer.

Unfortunately, I had left the building.

This is where I start to appreciate how hard of a position Joe had assumed. He had been warned in advance that Marky was “special” by Casey and Amber, so it may not have surprised him, but he was still caught up in my net of frustration.

He had the antidote to my black mood, but could not get me to reach out and take it from his outstretched hand, leaving him dangling. I feel bad for that now.

In a followup message the next day, Joe outlined the three steps he had taken to get the train back on the track: He had moved the contents of my blog onto a disc, he had built an external hard-drive for data storage and he had informed me that I could use I-Photo on my new computer by simply hooking up the camera to the computer in the same way I had with  my original computer.

I had discovered when I surfaced, that Annie and Lito had recovered my f/b account by using the original password from the old days, well-known to Annie because of my trials and tribulations.

So suddenly I had access to everything but the ability to post on my old blog, “Mark’s Work.” Joe had also sent me information about his progress with the blog. 

“I know it sounds dumb,” he apologized, “but they need to see proof that you are who you say you are. I am going to send off a couple of emails and see if I can get it resolved.”

I didn’t want to worsen the situation by sniveling about how stupid it was that I had to prove I had written the more-than-one hundred posts on my mood spectrum disorder, but I did anyway. “I couldn’t make that shit up,” I whined, and all Joe could do was agree.

“It’s just the way tech works. These systems are set up by guys who are always looking for shortcuts,” he explained, “and if you don’t know them, you get stuck taking the long way around…or not going at all.”

Talk about a quagmire equal to that of Jarndyce and Jarndyce from Charles Dickens’ Bleak House. I got nervous as Joe was relating this information to me, so I hastened to inform him that I had no more loot and that he should cease and desist his efforts.

“Don’t worry about that for now. What you gave me already is enough. What I am doing takes little time to initiate but a lot of time to complete, time during which I am busy doing my own thing.”

We agreed to meet the following Monday, thirteen days after our first get-together, at which time he would give an accounting of his stewardship and hopefully turn over the newly-created keys to my original blog.

How DID Joe get the blog back? The answer came when Joe actually opened up and read the blog. Not only did he find out more than he ever cared to know about bipolarism, he discovered the name of my first email account. And because we already knew the password, he was able to identify these elements for the powers-that-be at Google.

And the rest is history as they say. There are still issues that we have to sit down and work out, but between the two computers, the worn and frail Terra Jean, and the minty-fresh Suzy Puente, we are going to eventually combine and condense until everything fits on Suzy.

Joe is a hero in all this, not because he knows technology, but because he knows human nature, and was able to work me through the intricacies of something I could never have done by myself.

I’m not even sore at the clerk in the computer shop in Santa Rosa, because the issues Joe and I encountered with Terra Jean are not the run-of-the-mill variety.

When I tried to pin Joe down as to what really caused my blog to disappear, the best he say was that it could have simply been a systems failure or a faulty component of a chip. It was impossible to say.

I am grateful that I have my magic carpet back, the one that allows me to leave my space here and travel to all parts, known and unknown.

I might prefer to avoid those future unknown destinations, but as long as I am not reduced to having to rely on my own devices, and can call a guy like Joe Cool, I expect I will survive.