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| Evan Williams is a senior journalism major and writes 'My Bucket of Parts' for the Daily News. His views do not necessarily agree with those of the newspaper. |
First, before I begin, a flashback to the fall semester of this school year.
Fizz. Fizz. Fizz.
It is a cloudy fall day and I am making my way across campus. I, too, was a fanatic that screamed to University Bookstore so I could own my very own copies of Windows and Office XP for the low price of $10.
I thought, "Like, who knew?"
I jumped on my hover board and cruised home "Back to the Future" style, and was back at Noyer to download, what I thought, would become the supreme operating system of the highest heavens.
I slid that disk into the CD-ROM. It hummed with delight, tasting this new operating system created by master digital chief Bill Gates (and friends).
It chopped. It chewed. It growled. And then, for the next four hours (it should have only taken one), it digested.
I thought the program was defunct.
A box of Capri Suns, five bathroom visits and a rerun of "Trading Spaces" (that Paige Davis is so annoying) later, the computer finally booted. It said, "Hallelujah the new XP has risen," and the monitor danced with the brilliant, rolling CGI hills. Dude, it looked like the Wisconsin Dells.
Fizz. Fizz. Fizz.
Now, back to the present. This past week, Flying Monkeys from Oz came and dropped massive amounts of bird poop into my hard drive, along with the guts of Bill Gates. The fan-tab Windows XP decided it wasn't going to play nice anymore.
How do I know that I just don't like Windows XP, this supposed miracle worker for all people from Yonkers to China? Well, it didn't work with not one, but two of my scanners and my digital camera; it enjoyed a vicious game of hide and seek with my files; it constantly downloaded updates; and using the CD burner was like artificially inseminating an overweight horse with a hernia.
I broke down this past week and reloaded Windows 98 on my computer -- I couldn't take the XP anymore.
Just think, I wasted hours downloading Windows XP, finding my saved files hidden in discrete folders titled "paparazzi poop," downloading Office XP, renaming files, organizing my desktop, giving it a hip theme, and so on.
Then, I wasted my time downloading Windows 98, finding files, re-downloading other programs, giving my computer a pelvic exam, locating tumors, taking it to rehab, taking it to Ms. Ray's on McGalliard, and finally, I took it to a romantic spa, where the two of us enjoyed champagne, a lovely whirl pool, satin sheets, and well, you get the picture.
I pampered my computer like Michael Jackson pampers himself.
"That's crazy. That's crazy."
My computer had plastic surgery galore, and is now sensitive to sunlight, works only when I play Mozart in the CD-ROM, and I must tap lightly on the keyboard. Otherwise it hooks itself up to the Internet and gives telemarketers my phone number.
Our relationship is a cruel one. There have been days when I've dangled it over the balcony railing. Technology is an amazing development in modern life. We rely on it. It makes our jobs very different compared to those who lived before 2003 (I mean really, 2000 was a toughie), and it needs too much money to sustain its life.
What's next from our friend Bill?
I'm thinking Windows FU.
Write to Evan at emann@mr-potatohead.com
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