*Apologies to John Lennon.
Sorry about the light blogging yesterday. I experienced a slight meltdown and then had a vision of life in a post-apocalyptic world. Wait, that sounds like straitjacket time - my computer went on the blink. Literally. It had a blinking orange light where the steady green 'on' light oughta be and wouldn't start. Deader'n a fuckin' doornail.
It was just about the same sensation as when your motorcycle flames out twenty miles from your truck out in the middle of the desert. It gets awfully quiet, the world expands exponentially, and you get the sinking feeling that you're all alone out in the middle of it. And you are. Then you get over it and start in on trying to get it running again so you don't have to walk for eight hours to cover the distance you rode in twenty minutes.
I managed to bang out one little post on Mini-Hal while I was figuring out what to do next. With the desktop out, I was starting to feel as if I had ceased to exist as a human being, same feeling folks get when their car breaks and the mechanic can't get it fixed by lunchtime.
I've almost been expecting it. The cooling fan's been running a lot more than usual lately and it was getting louder. We had a computer years ago that wouldn't start when the fan went bad, so that's where I looked first. I peeled the fan out and sure enough, it had a notchy bearing like the steering head bearing on a motorcycle that's been pounded in a straight line too long. I don't know a damn thing about computers, but I knew that wasn't good. Whether that's what's really wrong with Hal is a moot point until I get a new fan in, but it needs replaced so that's where I'm starting.
I was a radio repairman in the service, so I was ready for anything when I opened Hal up. Imagine my surprise when I discovered there aren't any tubes in it! I should have known - the tube tester disappeared from the drugstore some time ago.
I started looking for parts. I called all three of the local computer joints listed in our phone book. Got three voice mails and am still waiting for call backs. Yeesh. Makes me wonder what those guys do for a living. It used to be that you got drugs at independent motorcycle repair shops that were only open at night. Maybe now it's 'puter shops. Heh.
I tried to look for parts online on Mini-Hal, but our ostensibly 3G air card is hampered by the weakest tower in the AT&T system by their own admission, one bar on a good day, like a wireless dial-up, only slower. It takes five or ten minutes for a page to load, you click on wherever it tells you to next, five or ten more minutes, repeat a coupla more times, and eventually get a "page not found" and start over someplace else. Grrrr. It took hours. Finally got a phone number for Dell and got the part on its way from a nice kid in the Phillipines. It's shipped and in a coupla days I'll be able ta try an' figger out what else needs to be done ta get Hal arcin' an' sparkin' again.
Didja ever have one of those "lights on in yer head, dipshit" moments? I sure did. About the time I was feeling all proud of myself for getting the part ordered against all the forces in opposition, Mrs. G came home for lunch. I told her what all had gone on and she came up with one little sentence: "Why din'tja hook the laptop up ta the DSL?"
Doh. Hand. Forehead. Smack. Get up off the floor. Repeat. She does that shit to me all the time. Actually I think I do it to myself.
Installed some software, cleared some space, hooked up a coupla cables, and here I am, all hi-speed like God intended and all's right with the world, in sort of an 'OK Temp' fashion. About my only problem is pulling out the keyboard from under the desk and wondering why it doesn't work. Hand, forehead...
On a good day, that would have been the end of it. Not so fast, white boy.
Came time to schlep down to the post office and pick up the mail. Went into the spare bedroom, where I can smoke, to watch a little news while I put on my pants (the folks at the PO are a buncha soreheads if I don't) and shoes. The TV is about thirty years old and runs on a box from the cable company. The box itself is so old that the cable company quit charging me rent on it years ago. Pointed the clicker at it and - nuttin' honey. Changed batteries, recalibrated it, bupkis. Oh, well...
As a mechanic, I know all too well that things happen in threes. The thought of "Oh shit, what's next?" came to mind as I surveyed my choices of transportation to go for the mail. I pondered which vehicle was a) least likely to break, b) which one did I stand the best chance of fixing by the side of the road using only my rocket scientist mind and roadside debris, and finally c) which one would I be most likely to be able to push a mile uphill to get home. I chose the Royal Enfield even though it failed to meet criterium 'c' by about 300 pounds, which is what I would have used even if all these dark thoughts hadn't been clouding my mind. Since all my troubles had been with electronics, the RE barely has any, and doesn't need them to run as long as the battery isn't dead. There is something to be said for old school simplicity.
Got the mail, got the cheapest remote they had at RiteAid, got the TV working, so far so good. As the fellow who just jumped off the 30th floor said as he went past the 15th.
I guess ya gotta have a day like that once in a while to remind you of how well things go normally, but yesterday was plenty, thank you, Jesus. Pardon me for bending yer eyeballs with it. Later.
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