After the Mac portion of my computer died, I didn't think too much of it. I brought it to be examined under warranty and was suggested to take my computer back over the weekend, complete an additional file backup, and bring in my PC on Monday to have it examined. I did just that and, Sunday night, received a pleasant surprise: the most disruptive, sinister, malicious computer virus I have ever seen, the "FBI" computer virus.
Apparently, because I rarely use my Windows side, the anti-virus software was horribly out of date and, consequently, I contracted a horrible computer virus. After an impromptu five hour visit with my father (who received a degree in computer engineering), neither of us could figure a way around the corrupted programming. We called in the towel--the Windows portion had failed, too. My dual-boot computer had lost both its boots and was left barefoot on a cold, wet Sunday night. I had no computer, a very bad thing.
It has been said that things are never appreciated until they're gone and I believe that that can be the case. I have a different perspective, though, and actually somewhat relished the experience.
I suppose that what I'm trying to say is that, while the temporary loss of a computer might seem devastating--"how will I check my email?" "How will I use a word processor to conduct research?" "How will I stay connected?" "How will I _____ or _____ or _____?" "What will happen to the order and structure that my computer has provided my otherwise mortal life, fraught with insecurity, confusion and (you guessed it) chaos?"The temporary loss of my computer allowed me to reflect upon its intrusion into my life, a fact that quickly became something that I was not necessarily happy with.
I now have a computer again, although it's still missing some key software. I don't exactly know how I feel about it. While the convenience and utility is wonderful, there was something to be said about being completely out of touch and reliant only upon public computers in public places to allow "order" to intrude into my other wise chaotic life. In essence, I think I might like chaos a little bit more than I had originally intended. It's somewhat nice and I somewhat miss it.
I suppose that what I'm trying to say is that, while the temporary loss of a computer might seem devastating--"how will I check my email?" "How will I use a word processor to conduct research?" "How will I stay connected?" "How will I _____ or _____ or _____?" "What will happen to the order and structure that my computer has provided my otherwise mortal life, fraught with insecurity, confusion and (you guessed it) chaos?"The temporary loss of my computer allowed me to reflect upon its intrusion into my life, a fact that quickly became something that I was not necessarily happy with.
I now have a computer again, although it's still missing some key software. I don't exactly know how I feel about it. While the convenience and utility is wonderful, there was something to be said about being completely out of touch and reliant only upon public computers in public places to allow "order" to intrude into my other wise chaotic life. In essence, I think I might like chaos a little bit more than I had originally intended. It's somewhat nice and I somewhat miss it.
Perhaps you need digital rehab: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/16/fashion/teaching-people-to-live-without-digital-devices.html?pagewanted=all
ReplyDeleteBut this is probably more to the point: http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/06/10/are-we-living-in-sensory-overload-or-sensory-poverty/
I, for one, have spent this entire day chained to my keyboard and monitor. Tomorrow I have meetings, and then I'll be stuck here again. Sometimes I wonder if this is any way to live a life while daffodils are blooming just outside . . . sigh.