Dead Computer

I recently experienced a trauma that is all too common in our culture: my computer died. Ever since I acquired my first ‘puter, I’ve struggled with their lack of reliability. In contrast, the ancient tools forged by human hands were simple and reliable. Chip an arrowhead or primitive knife from a flint stone and it would serve its creator a lifetime. Fashion a bow and arrow and it’d be a trustworthy partner for years. I still use some of my grandfather’s hand tools—hammer, pliers, gouge, plane—that he utilized seven decades ago.

A computer, however, can do so many more things than a hammer or saw can manage. It has brought humankind an unimaginable and rich panoply of capabilities. It has become so much at the center of our lives that we cannot conceive of existing without it. Yet its reliability sucks. Computers have so many ways that they can malfunction, and they seem bent on demonstrating to us their whole spectrum of faults. They are so complicated and their workings so far beyond the comprehension of your average citizen, that we non-geeks are helpless when they fail. (Much in the same way when our computer-driven cars quit running.)

I remember watching a computer-savvy friend many years ago, as he attempted to fathom the reason why my primitive ‘puter was being recalcitrant and threatening to obliterate all the precious information I had entrusted to it. I sat there, on the verge of a mental meltdown, as he twiddled away at the infernal machine. While I was both terrified and feeling irate about its feeble dependability, he commented that, considering how complex a computer is, he was rather amazed at how often it succeeds in what it does. For me it was a taste of reality of the computer world—a taste I’m still struggling to swallow.

So, once again, my ‘puter has died. With virtually no warning, it refused to turn on when I pressed the “run” button. That’s an upsetting nonstarter to start with. What can you do when the damned machine won’t even light up? There are no diagnostics you can try; there are no internet searches you can initiate. You’re dead in the water. You’re prey to the local computer repair shop predators—and you pray that you won’t get too badly burned.

In the meantime my routine is disrupted. (And of course, the ‘puter repair guy seems to have all the time in the world to get to my problem.) I cannot open the crucial emails that have been sent me. I cannot surf to my favorite news sites to stay abreast of all the critical developments in the world that utterly depend on my monitoring presence. I cannot post to my blog or write my next penetrating essay on what ails the world. A few years ago I quit subscribing to the local newspaper and have distanced myself from the use of the intrusive phone. The snail mail brings me only junk. I can live without them, but without my “faithful” computer, what’ll I do with myself?

Several days have now passed and I’m managing to survive. It ain’t been easy. But in fact, I’m beginning to find benefit from backing off from my ‘puter dependency. I reminded myself that when I take a vacation I survive without the constant companionship of my computer. (I carry no mobile devices.) If I can make it computerless through a vacation, I can survive a little more time without that confounded machine. The difference, of course, is that on vacation I choose to disconnect. Now it’s being forced on me… by a damnable machine that doesn’t like me!

As I gain some distance from the ‘puter catastrophe, I find that I’m surviving rather well. In fact the (forced) opportunity to step back and assess my ‘puter addiction gives me the chance to survey my daily routine and ponder how much of it makes sense. About two decades ago a lightning bolt hit and destroyed our TV reception. The loss was a bit traumatic at first, but we came to regard the failure as a blessing and let TV viewing expire. That said, I don’t think I’m ready to exist without my computer… although it’s tempting to, like the TV.