So when JW and I got matching Macbook Airs, we looked forward to the carefree ease of working with the Mac operating system, on these slim, slick new devices. And it started off well! It boots up in 30 seconds and closes down in 3! It has adorable icons and finger scroll features I love!
I had always coveted these, since I first saw one – slim as a notebook and that cool metallic class… almost sexy I tell you. JW sees computers as he does all gadgets. He personifies them and gives them a peck now and then. He cleans them almost compulsively and makes sure all updates are current. He claims you must love and speak to your machines for them to respond and work for you. And his machines work for him. Seemingly forever. When he hands something down years later it looks brand new, no scratches, no apparent wear and tear. He even keeps all the boxes and manuals. I’ve written about his gadget mania here.
But today we are talking about me. About the complete opposite. I see machines as a means to an end. I need to do e-mails for work, I love to write and surf the net – a computer lets me do that. Thanks computer. But kiss it? C’mon. Even my sexy MacAir, which I love, is still just a computer.
I am beginning to believe there is something in JW’s theories though. I’ve had this machine for a few months. In that time it has experienced a myriad of bizarre glitches and freezes from time to time without explanation. Sometimes it flips. Goes crazy and starts calling me names. Then it’s functions break down one by one… If I cuddled it, would it be nicer?
There is another popular theory (in my household) that electronics are allergic to me. That I emit some sort of evil radioactivity that cripples them temporarily in my presence.
Only when I hold the TV remote does it get stuck on a channel, and the only fix is a complete shut down, reset… When I had a PC I easily blamed all the mysterious happenings on the inferiority of the software/hardware. Now that excuse is gone…
JW’s Macbook has only ‘misbehaved’ twice, and I was present both times. He was not amused.
Should I feel powerful or cursed? Special or freakish?
All I know is that I’ve stopped reporting all the bizarre things that happen with me and the electronics around us. It’s become my dirty little secret. My private little hell. I secretly wonder if I should choose the back seats in airplanes, just so I don’t inadvertently tamper with the cockpit electronics…
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to break my diet with some red red for lunch.
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