Dear Laptop Computer,
For three days I have attempted to communicate with you. I have
whispered, pleaded, cajoled and screamed at you. Alas, you continue
to ignore me and persist with your independent ways. So I am making
an appeal to you here in the newspaper. I mean, everybody reads the
newspaper, right?
Dear Laptop Computer,
For three days I have attempted to communicate with you. I have whispered, pleaded, cajoled and screamed at you. Alas, you continue to ignore me and persist with your independent ways. So I am making an appeal to you here in the newspaper. I mean, everybody reads the newspaper, right?
Perhaps there is something happening out there in Computer Land making you act the way you do. We humans are wary of swine flu, and I suspect a similar virus may have victimized your hard drive. The “computer crud,” if you will.
And it’s not just me, computer. Recently my friend Angela put it out on Facebook that “technology can really be annoying.” Oh, I do feel her pain. And, incidentally, Angela is a total “Techno-Chick,” a term my other friend, Linda, devised to describe those gals who know their way around a hard drive while we (Linda and I) SO do not.
Linda is lamenting the fact that her computer’s “bedaZ” is malfunctioning again. And, OK, you probably won’t find “bedaZ” in the “Dictionary of Actual-Computer-Techno-Lingo (64-bit Edition),” but it makes Linda feel good to throw around words like that every now and then.
Perhaps, dear computer, the trouble is not so much with your bedaZ (and I’m going to get technical here) as it is with your GX79-Omteractove Teardown complex. So possibly we should open up your chassis to retrieve your 6mTs (squared) fulmars auto drive and if that doesn’t work, we’ll go ahead and format a new ImDF2.7 at the same time we download the 6.8 version of the advanced bl4n-floppy-nsp8.1F. In fact, I am about to place a call to technical support to suggest this very procedure to the techno guy located halfway around the world that will attempt to diagnose your persnickety ways. That ought to impress him.
No, I don’t ask much of you, computer. Just a little typing (“data entry” in your jargon), hang on to a few thousand pictures and videos, and not get smart with me when I turn you on. And I prefer that you abstain from sending me snippy messages that you are “attempting” to do something. You are the computer. You are supposed to know how to do the things you do and “attempts” are a little disheartening. Kind of like when the doctor says, “oh-oh” while performing routine procedures such as episiotomies. Not that I expect you to know what that is, computer, but don’t tempt me to demonstrate this on your stubborn little hard drive.
I also do not appreciate it when you demand I install the latest version of whatever software you’ve set your little electronic heart upon. And then not let me install it. What’s up with that? “You need to install the latest version of Adobe Flex-40-doma-drive,” you virtually shout at me when I want to look at a couple of pictures or something. Hey, great idea, computer. Yeah, if you could refrain from reprimanding me for trying to fulfill what was your request in the first place.
And please do not tell me you are helping to protect my security by blocking a site from downloading files, Internet Explorer! I mean, give me a break here! I have a whole government protecting my security, for gosh sakes. And it goes beyond ridiculous when the files I am trying to download come from your very own Mother Ship, so to speak.
Now the last time I checked your monitor, you were 0 percent complete with Stage 3 of 3 of “configuring updates.” What??? You have to “configure” an update? Can’t you just sort of slurp it up and deal with it later when I don’t need you? I mean, you were in the exact same configuration stage over an hour ago. Seriously. If it took me as long to style my hair as it does for you to configure an update, I’d never get out of the house.
Then you have the nerve to tell me not to turn you off while you’re configuring. OK, but when I leave you running, your little components get so hot you’re going to have heatstroke. Look, it’s summer. I just don’t need a sizzling little laptop radiating out into the rest of the house like this. I feel I should bring you cool compresses or something.
And, OK, I’m trying not to be bitter when I start you up and you display your “Welcome” screen. For 27 minutes! Geez, are you feeling rejected because I shut you down and now you have to make me suffer? This is troublesome, computer, and I don’t know if our relationship can be saved. Perhaps we need some counseling.
After all we’ve been through together, it pains me to have to tell you this, computer, but I’m giving it to you straight: I’m afraid I’m becoming attracted to, you know … a typewriter.
