Saturday, October 22, 2011

Poor old Desky

Our Desktop PC s on the way out.

It has a bunged-up versions of Windows XP that is no longer Security Update supported. I found this out when I decided to suck it up and try and validate the copy we had, a copy installed by our awesome friend Stu who is the go to dude for computer whizzery. Not for me calling up Jim's Computer Repairs. I'm afraid the idea of a beardy in a terry toweling hat thumbing around my box's innards fills me with a sense of disquiet.

So on the former government furniture (1) laminated height-adjustable grey table is the Desky, in on-but-not-used-mode, the Desky monitor, and its keyboard and mouse ... all but the former shunted back up against the wall of the couch that borders the back of the desk. In the middle is Mr Lappy. At the front is the keyboard plugged into Mr Lappy and the plugged in mouse.

It's all a hideous jumble of poorly-stacked black-in-hue computer crap. The sort of set-up you'd expect of a Mirror Universe Uni-bomber, who conducts multiple online forum posts in between heavy sessions of disturbing self-loathing masturbation.

Over the next few days I will be backing up, if I can, from Desky, whose stuttering and juttering has grown worse of late—where the mouse cursor freezes for a few seconds, or type fails to register through the keyboard because you're typing too fast for it. It feels like when a hospice tells you 'it's near time' and that it's likely your loved one is passing on within the week.

I'm assuming pretty much it's beyond restoration. So I guess then the process of replacement begins.

Do, do, do ... do ... do, do do.

(1) Canberra being a paper-push town has a lot of ex-government, colloquially referred to as 'ex-guvie', has a lot of government surplus furnishings stores. Much of our first furniture was purchased from such places or from auctions where buildings were being leveled and everything must go. Though now this desk I sit at is the last I think of such furnishings in the main house. Our old Oak-veneer bookshelves banished to the shed of shame, stuffed with items-of-memory-but-not-yet-discarded (1a).
(1a) As part of the sheer-fucking-filing-hell I am inflicted with over the next two weeks I discovered that amidst the filing boxes of the burdensome administrative process (foisted on me by Backy McStab) were two boxes of my uni notes. I noted that the boxes represented three years worth; 2004—2006. The boxes of 2004 were filled with photocopies of entire books I'd taken, having spent a couple of Saturdays at work copying book after book, loaned to me by the excellent Craggles (1b). By 2006 it was printouts of PDFs. Yes, within just two years, the how information is gathered by university students had been fundamentally altered. Our society is literally shifting in how it interacts with and processes information in great leaps and bounds in just years as opposed to centuries for the impact of leaps like the printing press. I think you can see why in the adulation and admiration that poured out, Diana-style, upon the death of Steve Jobs (1c).
(1b) And the only man I know who can wear a goatee yet appear warm and friendly as opposed to sinister and menacing.
(1c) I noticed one of the semi-stick mags, you know where you can see almost all of a girl except her standard penile entry points (I call them for men too scared to buy Penthouse), had a list of the fifty most dodgy or disturbing or edgy jokes. I don't know, something like that. Within one of the Font Size Point 72 header characters, the letter O, was a graphic of Steve Jobs with the caption of 'iDied laughing'. Stay classy, San Diego.


  1. I heard the joke "iBituary" within 24 hours of him dying...

  2. Damn, I was really trying to achieve "Evil Genius" with the facial hair. Perhaps I should pet a pussy while I stroke my beard?

  3. Add a V neck black sweater with a partial turtle-neck collar and you're there!


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