a thing of beauty and a joy for..about five years, more or less
Wednesday 27 September 2006 | I like a cookie
That’s almost exactly how old our G4 Powerbook is, once a desperately thrilling Christmas present from our mom in 2001 (see ancient blogpost) when Titaniums (Titania?) were hot off the assembly lines—although the CD drive, not yet being Combo, could only read not write. And now it can do 
neither, but as this grieving owner attests, it does make a satisfying grinding sound when you put a disk in it. Given the similarities between his and ours (oh the many many power cords! the many batteries! oh the brand-new battery which stopped working over a month ago!) and the similar amount of wear and tear, the G4 on which this very sentence is being typed has not very many more hours of processing time left in it. Sam’s burnished, battered machine is beautifuller than a velveteen rabbit made real; his photographs bespeak obsessive passionate love, like Steiglitz’s silver prints of O’Keeffe, and we’re labile enough to get seriously choked up over these pictures. (Med appt. on Friday. Med appt. on Friday.)
The Physicist, being the unqualified genius between the two of us during our marriage (and for that matter afterward as well), was the first to realize that we could watch DVDs on it. In bed. (Or on the sofa, with the laptop propped on, logically enough, our laps, until it would overheat.) The first film we ever saw thusly: High Fidelity, only just then available for rental. It kept freezing. John Cusack halted in mid-oration, mouth ajar, Jack Black gyrating happily in the background. Championship Vinyl. Lisa Bonet. Tim Robbins. Todd Louiso. Kraftwerk. Stevie Wonder. Green Day. Sonic Death Monkey. “Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?”
Hobbies? How the hell did I get onto hobbies?
“the computer went everywhere with me. it was pretty cool when flying, because when i flew with my nice shinny [sic] new expensive computer i got to meet and talk to all types of business men i would have never met during my days of making stick figure art. but later on when flying with a powerbook that is taped together no one really talks to you,” admits the sad owner of the dead G4.
Since I seem to be gunning to be fired three times in one year, why not aim for it rather than be its passive victim?—I know it’s nearly October but surely I can make it! Sitting here in total darkness and reading sentimental entries from Dooce almost makes us think it’s almost not our fault. But not quite.
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