Sunday, July 6, 2014

It Doesn't Compute

I'm going to throw my computer right out the front door.

Check that. I'm going to carry my 'puter, oh-so-calmly, to my Accord, and I'm going to drive, sedately, of course, to some abandoned parking lot, and I'm going to do an NHRA-style burnout on this thing.

I say that in the spirit of having a mess of wires, plastic, and silicone chips which apparently morphed together with the intent of changing my home page to something which absolutely bathes in ad pop ups. While applying for jobs (and the occasional grad school program), something called "Trovi" decided that it wanted to role play Blackbeard and pirate my home page. (Avast ye scurvy dog). According to the net nerds, it's almost impossible to get rid of this crap. Can't wait for Monday Morning, when I call the folks who run that outfit to inform them that I'm swinging by, so to speak, with a baseball bat unless they extricate themselves from anything even resembling my computer. I only wanted to apply to a graduate program. Imagine my delight when some ad popped into my screen, doing its flashing best to induce a migraine over refinancing a mortgage for a house which hasn't been built yet. "Operators are standing by." I hope they're sitting, because it'll be awhile before I get back to them.

The speed at which the ol' Dell moves now is comparable to a Mead No. 2 (aka a "pencil", for those who were born after 1990), and we aren't even talking cursive writing. When I finally do make it to the website I'm seeking, I've aged. I feel that I've overcome yet another of life's many challenges. I've endured.

Long enough to read "script error" across the bottom of the page -again. Why didn't someone tell me that owning a computer should require taking a three hour course at MIT? The frustration of a slow computer which, apparently, thinks its a piece of furniture, is enough to send this grumpy old man back to the kitchen to make a salad while the Dell Villain 4000 plots its next step in what can only be considered psychological warfare against its owner. While I'm making the salad, it occurs to me that I probably have time to make a hamburger and scrub the kitchen, too. I marvel at how the kitchen hasn't sparkled like this for over a year before recalling that it was last July when I actually entered it. By now I find myself wondering whether or not the computer has shut itself off, and, if so, whether or not it was during the football season.

I've restarted this thing several times now, per Dell's recommendations, trekked through Internet Options, clicked on Advanced Tabs, negotiated with Programs And Features, and applied for a grant in order to figure all of this out through the National Science Foundation.

I still have to deal with a computer which now prioritizes ads from companies which I'll never do business with again, but at least that nefarious "stop script" message isn't shutting down what has reliably been a nice diversion from the horrors of cable TV. In all, life is good -even if I do feel grumpy at the moment. Now I'm left with a final issue: I'm not sure where I want to go online. I'm bored with surfing the net. The thrill of mahjong seems to have abated for the moment, and I'm not in the mood to Netflix my way through an hour and a half of rescuing the damsel in distress against four hundred evil Ninjas.

I think I'll go read a book.


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