So I dropped my computer today while fumbling with my bag. And even though it fell in its sleeve and in a tote bag, it landed with enough impact to make my dear little Dolly’s screen all black. If I stare really hard, I can sort of make out a few things, in the same sort of way that you force yourself to make out the words in a book even after it’s definitely gotten too dark to read. Prognosis: backlight is broken. Estimated $200+ in repairs.
So I cried. I cursed, and cried, and felt like vomiting. Ah, I am truly the mediated twenty-first century image producer. I am unsatisfied by an S-video hookup to a television screen, and still unsure about an external monitor when I can’t see what’s going on on my own, and yet have to use the keyboard and mouse attached. It is as if I have been attached to feeding tubes and lie in bed, watching the EKG pulsate and fearing its every last spike. I’m broken and blinded.
Motherfucker.
your post reminds me of childhood trips to my grandma’s apartment. the Spice network came in scrambled–she had a satellite dish–and my brother and i would stare, squint our eyes, trying to make out the distorted nipples through the vaguely psychedelic signal.
good times.
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