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post #11
bio: stu

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Notes on Sobriety
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Brain Fog
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Uber, but For Wrong Numbers
On the Greatest Political Satire of the 21st Century


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How I learned to stop worrying and love my computer
I am an idiot.

Pure and simple, that's all there is to say. I'd like it to be more complex and meaningful than that, but when you're an idiot, it's kind of hard to make things more complex and meaningful.

Which is a longer way to say, I solved the aforementioned computer problem, in which, spontaneously and apropos of nothing, my computer would transform me into e.e. cummings without the sparkling wit or ability to artfully compare having sex with driving a new car.

I'd like to pretend that my skillful debugging work and clear and concise attention to detail is what helped me solve this problem, but the truth is, it was blind luck.

But first, a little background on what I did to solve this problem; don't worry, it won't be too technical. In fact, I'd be surprised if any of this explanation got anywhere close to as in-depth and technical as Tamara/Tim Tech Time. But some explanation is in order. You see, the problem with any computer problem is that my computer is in perhaps the least accessible place in the entire apartment, nestled in a corner underneath the one table we own. Even during the brightest day, the room is set up so that no light gets underneath this table (the occasional evil bee gets under there, but no light).

To make matters worse, all of our flashlights are either missing or out of batteries.

Let us pause for a second and contemplate the cruel irony of the device most useful for finding lost things being missing. Raise your glass, mutter a brief imprecation towards the cruel ineffability of fate, and then let's get back to my fucking computer.

The upshot of having no working flashlight means that every expedition to fix the computer winds up being more of a spelunking and mining expedition from the 19th Century than computer engineering work. I light a candle, finalize my will and testament, and slide under the table. You have to keep a close watch on your canary to make sure it remains safe under there. A comrade occasionally bursts into "Sixteen Tons," and you settle into the enviable job of sorting through a morass of cables.

All these complications involved in computer repair can only obscure temporarily the only inescapable conclusion. That





This is not my computer playing games with me; I just thought it needed extra emphasis. Because it's true.

In my last post on this subject, I clearly stated, "the only thing I've ruled out so far is the keyboard." Now, if I'd just stated it as, "the only thing I've ruled out so far is MY keyboard," I would have been fully correct. My keyboard is not the problem, and never has been. However, significant portions of this computer belong to my roommate (I'm slowly taking it over with my components), and one of his possessions was a wireless keyboard.

When moved in, I removed it and plugged my own keyboard in because I like my ergonomic keyboard, as freaky as it looks. But apparently, I was less than vigilant in disconnecting all the pieces, because the wireless keyboard receiver was plugged still plugged into the serial port (but not the regular keyboard port). This wasn't a problem as long as the keyboard sat in the closet unmolested, but we did some spring cleaning the other week, and apparently our wireless keyboard wound up crammed uncomfortably in the corner of a closet twenty feet from the computer, underneath some things.

With the Enter key constantly being pushed.

Who knows how the receiver, which has an effective range of about 8 feet, picked up the signal, and who knows why it got worse in the last couple of days, but it happened. I'm just lucky I found it without setting the tablecloth on fire.

So, one last time, I repeat:





This may seem like kind of a given for me, but I think I need a drink now. Anyone have any suggestions? Anything you've been wondering about and haven't had the courage or cash to attempt? Right now, I'll drink pretty much anything.

Well, you can pretty much ignore the "right now," in that last sentence. But right now I'm willing to be exceptionally lax.

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