Okay, that post title is a bit dramatic. But not as dramatic as my computer's struggle to survive two nights ago. My computer wasn't even ON (well, it was in sleep mode) when it was suddenly and without provocation ambushed by a dastardly virus. The virus, cleverly created by a few loser hackers out to prove themselves, posed as antivirus software and proceeded to block me from my internet browser and all other necessary programs, all the while in (what I can only imagine) a mocking tone telling me "your computer is infected with spyware! Please activate anti-virus software!" I'm aware of the situation, VIRUS.
To make a long story short, a friend of mine was able to debilitate and destroy the virus before it got out of hand, but there was a brief period when I thought my laptop was a goner, and for those few minutes I sat in mourning. And then I thought to myself, "this is truly ridiculous."
You might ask why it's ridiculous. Once upon a time people kept hard copies of things they found valuable. Entire families, sometimes five or six generations, would wipe the dust off the ol' family Bible, which was the single heirloom due to its eternal significance. Scrapbooks used to be in vogue, I'm not sure if people still make them. Regardless, important things could actually be physically touched, stored away or dramatically unveiled. Not so anymore. While most of my important documents are backed up on an external hard drive, there were still a few stories I had written and music I had bought that I hadn't permanently saved yet. And they almost slipped away. People used to mock me for taking all my class notes on good ol' fashioned looseleaf notebook paper, instead of tapping away on a laptop ("but Brendan, it's SO much easier.") I'll stick to paper, thank you very much. Barring fire or flood, it'll probably last me longer than an intangible file on a microchip.
Not that this is entirely related, but I did write the word "music", and I'm using that as my justification for transition. I'm pretty sick and tired of putting my iPod on shuffle and watching it fail miserably (its idea of "shuffle" is to pick a few artists and jump back and forth repeatedly, sometimes playing four or five songs from the same freaking album). Back when I was sold out for Facebook I even made a group about it. It still bothers me, though. I then realized that if I just select "songs" and play through my entire music library alphabetically, I'll get a better shuffle. I mean, REALLY random things show up, which is the whole point, right?
Anyway, I've embarked upon a new adventure. I usually only listen to my iPod in my car or on breaks at work, but I've started listening to my songs alphabetically. My goal is to go all the way down, numbers to "Z", without skipping any. Mind you, I've allowed myself a loophole - I can change the song after a minute and a half if I REALLY dislike it - but other than, I'm plugging on through, and it's been fantastic. I highly recommend it.
But yeah, computers TOTALLY = Death.
Friday, July 2, 2010
The Product of Late Nights and Romantic Goofiness
Tonight I dreamed, as they say, a little dream.
Once upon a moment in time,
Once in the daguerreotype world of grays and half-shaded lines,
The two of us were whole and imperfect.
We were colors saturated in a strange hue.
Your hair was done-up, which I know is unlike you
And I had brought you flowers, which is quite unlike me.
As lovers we seem the sort of thing a child speaks,
Silently, in his little smile before the laugh.
We take an eternity to dissolve a minute in our gaze,
Moving slow, in waltz-steps, to negotiate a sigh
And capture the longing in a breath.
The gentle fingers of our souls stretch
Towards the other in a brushing,
Yearning gesture – they’re simply touching
The surface of a glance.
The flowers sit upon the floor
As if you always meant them to, really,
Since we have both forgotten them.
Remember me when you awake and the light
Of the world tips its difficult head to yours to draw a kiss,
And you coyly turn away.
Think of me still when the sun is looking in upon your bed,
And you wish against all wishes to stay there,
And never get out of bed and drink your coffee
Or do anything, ever again.
Perhaps the dream may beat on after all,
But only in real ways, and we can finally meet.
Or maybe I will merely return to sleep.
Once upon a moment in time,
Once in the daguerreotype world of grays and half-shaded lines,
The two of us were whole and imperfect.
We were colors saturated in a strange hue.
Your hair was done-up, which I know is unlike you
And I had brought you flowers, which is quite unlike me.
As lovers we seem the sort of thing a child speaks,
Silently, in his little smile before the laugh.
We take an eternity to dissolve a minute in our gaze,
Moving slow, in waltz-steps, to negotiate a sigh
And capture the longing in a breath.
The gentle fingers of our souls stretch
Towards the other in a brushing,
Yearning gesture – they’re simply touching
The surface of a glance.
The flowers sit upon the floor
As if you always meant them to, really,
Since we have both forgotten them.
Remember me when you awake and the light
Of the world tips its difficult head to yours to draw a kiss,
And you coyly turn away.
Think of me still when the sun is looking in upon your bed,
And you wish against all wishes to stay there,
And never get out of bed and drink your coffee
Or do anything, ever again.
Perhaps the dream may beat on after all,
But only in real ways, and we can finally meet.
Or maybe I will merely return to sleep.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)