Saturday, April 17, 2010

Fear and Loathing in My Inbox

I have purchased a new computer.  Dude, it's a Dell: much like Isaiah's dog, I have a tendency to return to my vomit.

That's not fair.  I have owned three Dell laptops, counting this one, and they have been reliable, at least as reliable as computers are capable of being.  (This is a good time to revist what I consider my crowning intellectual achievement, McMurray's Law of Technological Homeostasis, which states that for every minute of time saved by some electronic device, the user loses a minute, rebooting, reinstalling, resetting, or talking to Pam in technical support.)  

Computer people lie.  They lie so much.  Even Steve Jobs, that coffee sipping fake beatnik (fauxnik?).  We have an iMac.  It did not Change Our Lives Forever; it just made it marginally more convenient to view You Tube footage of monkeys sniffing their poopy fingers.  

And don't get me started on the Captain Nerdmerica up in Washington state.  Window 7 is indeed fast, easy, and convenient, assuming this is your first computer, and you don't have hundreds of dollars invested in software, and thousands of hours invested in files that are languishing on an old unit.  Spare me your talk of transfer cables: I followed the setup steps to the letter, and all I get is a message on the old computer, informing me that "you have logged in on a temporary profile.  Restart your computer and try again." Over and OVer and OVEr and OVER and OVER. Now I am noticing that my iTunes files are acting strangely: For some reason, British comedian Sandy Toksvig's photo has replaced the icon for "Raging Waters", a documentary on Niagara Falls, and my copy of Al Stewart's "Down in the Cellar" has broken up into four sections, like a sad, musical Yugoslavia.   

So I am in a sour mood, a mood made worse by Paul Scholes's stoppage time goal in today's Manchester Derby (you hold one of the best teams in the world for ninety two minutes and forty three seconds, and you lose on a header.  It makes me sick.  Scholes seems like a decent guy, though, despite playing for The Devil).

Then there was the email.  It came from someone named "Clyde McMurray", a person I do not know.  It contained a single sentence, written in 24 point boldface Courier:

Death is a Separation.

I've grown used to the cryptic comments from Asian "friendship" websites ("nice job! waiting for your new artical!" "great minds thing alike!"  "you say so, jack!"), but this unnerved me.  What is yon Clyde saying?  Is it a warning?  Some sort of code?  A threat, perhaps?  Have I stumbled unwitting into a vast international conspiracy?  Does somebody other than my little brother hate this blog?  is somebody other than my little brother reading this blog?

It gives one pause. 



    Cryptic is stupid. So is Clyde, maybe. Kind of like taking The Smashing Pumpkins or their ilk seriously.

    If I read your blog, and and your little brother is the only one that reads it, does that make me your little brother? Just curious. When's the family reunion, then? YOU JUST SAY SO, JACK!