Sic Transit Gloria Computris
My hard disk is having an identity crisis. I’m on Mom’s computer now, so that I can relay the latest news to my loyal readers. Eh, who am I kidding, you’re all just waiting for me to drop clever quips and bad jokes.
So my hard disk is having an identity crisis. It started rattling and rasping and generally making its bad mood known while I was trying to check email this morning. While I was on the phone with tech support this afternoon, the (Very nice and helpful to the best of his abilities) techie guy agreed that it sounded like an engine that couldn’t quite turn over. Then we agreed that it could audition for the percussion section of the ventura symphony. But then he said It. And blew all my doubts out of the water. I now know what is wrong with my hard drive.
It thinks it’s a maraca.
Which would explain its general loud noise and percussive rattlings. And warns me that it will soon begin dancing around with a lampshade on its head (haha Steven…) and hijacking my radio’s antenna for a pole dance. Steven remarks that at least a pole dance will bring in some money for repairs. I say that the disk doesn’t have enough cleavage. It’s not even partitioned! He says this while lounging in his bathtub typing away at his laptop — or so he tells me over instant messenger. I really don’t want to see him corrupting his poor computer like that — sexy the hard drive may be, but it’s not safe to go hot tubbing with it. Silly Steven.
So Compaq is sending me a new hard disk in the mail. I may try Techie’s freezer cure, but as that is not covered by warranty and probably won’t work anyway, I’ll wait till the newbie gets here.
Meanwhile I wait with bated breath for my stomach ills and inability to retain solid foods to depart me. When abdominal fortitude returns, I’ll go back to packing for Davis.
This just ain’t my week.