My computer went belly up on Thursday and that, to my way of thinking, is the literal definition of disaster — an event short of catastrophe, but way beyond fiasco.
So where the heck is FEMA with my aid and support? Where’s the Red Cross? I’m sitting here in the rubble, picking my way through files and flash drives and chaos, hoping to restore some semblance of order. Yeah, well, fat chance; I lost my software in the crash. I have thousands of files on half a dozen flash drives, but I can’t open one of them. They’re 100% inaccessible, unless I pay ransom to Adobe for the rest of my natural life. And I don’t want to.
See, you can’t buy InDesign and Photoshop from Adobe any more. Oh, no, you have to rent them in perpetuity at a cost of $40 / month. Of course, that’s today’s rate, it will certainly go higher and higher and higher as time marches on. This death grip on products is the new business model for technology companies. Apple has adopted it, too. To prevent any third-party repair of their precious products, Apple bricks the device — locking you out of your own computer — when an unauthorized technician attempts to fix it. Only an Apple technician can then unlock your bricked device. Shouldn’t these shenanigans be illegal?
But I digress …
Today, I mourn the loss of my beloved old laptop and the software it housed. Fortunately, I had the foresight to prepare for its certain and inevitable demise and acquired a second laptop several years ago. It’s perfectly adequate, newer with a ton of annoying bells and whistles, but it’s slower, with less memory. I’ll get used to it, of course, but I’ll miss my old workhorse. I get ridiculously attached to things like computers and certain clothes, cars, books, socks. You know, stuff. It’s wrenching, after years of their loyal, devoted service, to lose their companionship and comfort.
Seriously, think about it. Where do we turn when we need answers or news or distraction? Where do we run when we get an idea? To our trusty old computers, that’s where. Sure, they’re a pain in the ass a lot of the time, total divas, but they always come through like champions. Even though I’m no techie and I’ve no credentials whatsoever, my old computer did whatever I commanded — usually to my very great regret. It only complained there at the end, grinding and whirring, blinking and flashing, sputtering — undergoing the digital version of a death rattle. Poor thing.
So forgive me for cutting this short, but it’s time for the memorial service to begin. May my dearly departed laptop rest in peace.
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