Electronics hate me. And I am starting to hate them.
Last week, it was my cell phone. Actually, two cell phones. The one that my phone insurance sent me decided to stop working the second day I had it.
This week, my laptop's LCD screen suddenly declared that it no longer wanted to turn on. Conveniently this happened during the one of two weeks this entire semester where I have any semblance of graded work due. Oh, and an interview. Wonderful.
As I write, it's pouring rain, and I am sitting in The Chronicle office attempting to ignore the distractions of the nerdy staffers (yes, I am one as well) chatting away about inane subject nobody really cares about but them. Working in here only beats the library because I feel a little awkward cracking beers under the bright Bostock lights.
(You try pulling BS out of your ass every week, then let's talk.)
Anyhow, where was I? Oh yes, so electronics hate me.
I'm actually convinced there is something in my body chemistry, some sort of electrical impulse secreted from somewhere within me that works to corrupt, confuse and ultimately destroy every piece of electronic equipment I have ever owned. I have been known to conduct a curious amount of static electricity and shock myself with unusual regularity. CompSci/bio/chem majors, any thoughts?
I've gone through four iPods in as many years. I am on my second laptop hard drive. My flat-screen TV broke two days after I bought it. My video camera and digital camera have developed mysterious battery-related problems. I can never, under any circumstance, capture video without some sort of glitch. And, well I guess I can blame myself for my cell phone woes, but still if you count the two abroad I think I have had eight cell phones during my Duke tenure.
(Note: Do not attempt to make a phone call while peeing into the Joyce toilet.)
(Additional note: Fishing it out of your own urine is not going to bring the phone back to life-I learned this the hard way.)
My mom likes to place the blame on my own personal negligence-that I simply do not take care of my possessions. She may have a point, in certain cases, like the adventures of my cell phone.
However, negligence hardly begins to explain my technological woes. The untimely demise of my important gadgets leads me to believe that these supposedly inanimate objects are almost mocking me. It's like my dog pissing in my sheets before a girl comes over because apparently I haven't been paying enough attention to him.
Maybe that's the solution. My computer just needs a little more lovin'. You know, make it feel I appreciate it. Lord knows it's taken a fair deal of punishment. I mean, it has had to stare at my naked ass one too many times.
OK, so the question is, how?
Hugs? Flowers? An occasional high five/'atta boy? People, I'm open to suggestions.
Meanwhile, can somebody who has been getting phone calls and e-mails from OIT telling them their laptops are ready for pick up please go pick them up and return their loaners. I NEED ONE, DAMN IT!
Thanks.
Dan Belzer is a Trinity senior. His column runs every Tuesday.
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