Sony V. Maycotte died violently in its sleep last Wednesday of hard drive failure. It was eight months old. It is survived by a leather carrying case and its devastated owner.
Although it could be temperamental at times, Sony was a good computer. It is true that it was prone to bouts of irrationality. It liked to chime in during class with the sounds of SportsCenter while I was supposed to be focusing on mens rea. On occasion, it would blue itself and stop working. And no, there is no better way to say that.
Sony V., however, was instrumental in its owner’s survival when classes went into overtime. It allowed for easy access to ESPN when a classhole’s question broached the 100-word mark. It happily provided access to MLB.TV during long nights in the library. On occasion, it would serve as a terrific wingman, happily providing its owner with choice Facebook information that could be seamlessly appended to conversations aimed at obtaining a woman’s phone number.
While the danger of drunk instant messaging may be but a distant memory, and time wasted on solitaire is now better spent on reflection, Sony V. will be sorely missed. As I write this in the computer lab, I am seeing someone slap his palm against the table and then hold his head in frustration. But I am at peace. For it is said in the scriptures that every time Windows crashes, a computer gets its wings.
I delivered this eulogy at a memorial service for my computer held in my apartment last Friday. I then poured one out in its honor. Regrettably, the alcohol fell directly into my buddy’s backpack, drowning his computer, which at that moment decided to join my computer in death’s embrace.
So now we had a double funeral, which isn’t as fun as it sounds, considering that Best Buy kicked us out of the wake because we were hogging the Guitar Hero — and because we were drunk around expensive stuff.
It’s not my fault that computers are inherently fragile creatures. They’re less resistant than even babies. Dropping either would get you in trouble. But there’s a lot of stuff you can do to a baby that you can’t do to a computer. For example, turn a hose on a baby and you get gurgling and giggling. Turn a hose on a computer and you get sparks, fire and smoke, three elements that a baby can’t produce under everyday conditions.
I did all I could to save my computer. And this is where the similarity with the baby really works. If you have a sick baby, you give it to a doctor, much like you give an ailing computer to a Geek Squad geek. He knows more than you do. The computer geek can probably take a guess at how to fix your laptop better than you can, just as a doctor can tell you the baby probably has just gas, although you can’t 100 percent rule out the bubonic plague.
Even if you, like Linus, believe in good intentions, it still hurts. There’s nothing scarier than giving your baby to the doctor so you can watch him use an instrument with a name you can’t even pronounce to poke at its belly. Then you see a computer guy breathing through his nose while taking a huge screwdriver to your computer’s underbelly. His goal is to disembowel it and squint at its innards for a moment. All so he can sigh and say there’s nothing he can do except send it to a specialist in Silicon Valley for appraisal. It’s dead now, but perhaps they can revive it.
“And how long will that take?”
“Anywhere from two to 12 weeks.”
Alas.
Life without a computer — especially without Internet — is like walking around without a nose. You don’t really need it, but it just should be there.
You can feel the people staring. “Ooh, that’s the guy who doesn’t have a computer. Ooh, I bet you he hasn’t been on Facebook today. I bet you it takes him at least a day to find out that Archie and Veronica are no longer in a relationship. It took us, what, two minutes on Facebook? Ooh, I bet you he hasn’t seen today’s Obama music video. That’s so un-American. We should get him deported.”
And then they point and laugh when immigration special agents Smith and Jones knock on my door:
“Carlitoooos. . . vaaaamonos.”
On the other hand, not having a computer is kind of liberating, in a way. I no longer have to puzzle over why it’s so weird for guys to LOL or use smilies. The weather outside is always an adventure. Class is starting to make sense. Spam comes only in a can now. The MPAA even dropped its lawsuit against me.
The freedom is almost cloying. I don’t know if I can handle it. I feel like Morgan Freeman. These computers are funny. First you hate ’em, then you get used to ’em. Enough time passes, and you get so you depend on them. I’m institutionalized. I’ve had computers all my life, and my life’s exactly what they take. The part that counts, anyway.
I hope my computer comes back, and that it comes back alive. I hope it can make it across the border. I hope I can type on its keyboard and click its mouse. I hope the desktop is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.
Carlos Maycotte, a first-year student in the School of Law, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at [email protected].
