Thank you all, once again, for your comments and e-mails about my laptop, and the need not to trust it with my most valuable digital property ever again. Because a rogue motherboard might go through menopause or whatever and start pecking at the very computer guts that sustain it, resulting ultimately in priceless and irreplaceable words and images zapped to oblivion. I am pricing external hard drives, which apparently now can fit 2 fajillion terabytes onto the head of a pin, and the consensus of opinion says I should get one with its own power source. Any thoughts on that, tech support enthusiasts of the world?
Soon after my laptop was returned to me, data intact, it had a bit of a relapse. Apparently the machine didn't like the new version of the OS and starting giving me error messages that it was counterfeit. Then the video drivers went kerflooey and started randomly blacking out the screen. This is my work laptop, so it's not as if I can just load it onto a comput-apult and launch it into the East River. Luckily, the risibly named Mr. But has been a trooper, putting out every fire I bring to him with unfailing exuberance. I was a bit unnerved by that smile that never seemed to leave his face, that would seemingly withstand the most brutal assault on his nadsack, until his boss told me this is his first job out of school. Ah, I thought. It all makes sense now. He's still a foal, tottering around on his wobbly legs in the meadow of Work Life without having landed in any of its myriad cowpats.
So how have I been spending my time? Well, if you don't count all the re-loading of software and re-membering of passwords (all my cookies are gone), I've been boogie-ing with the boys, who've developed an abiding passion for "She Drives Me Crazy" by Fine Young Cannibals. The video is bookmarked, so Robert can find it any time he wants and ROCK! OUT! The video has lots of guitar work, so Robert is big with the tennis racquet on the couch, strumming lustily. And then there's TwoBert, gamely (and often nakedly) offering background vocals (DRIVE ME CRAZY! NO ONE ELSE!) at the top of his itty bitty lungs. When I get home in the afternoon, "Drive Me Crazy" is often the first phrase out his mouth, and we get a good ten listens in before I can change out of my work clothes. Then there are the extemporaneous lyrics ("She drives me crazy, and I keep punching my butt!").
At one point, after we'd heard the song for the 2 fajillionth time, Robert asked, "Daddy, what's 'obsessed' mean?"
Look in the mirror, my boy.