This is the secret vision I have of myself: I am wildly, improbably tech-savvy in an intuitive way; in the way some people can whisper at horses and that lady on the Animal Planet can sense that what Captain Wiggles really wants is the cheese flavored biscuits and not those bullshit chicken ones, I can lay my hands down upon a computer, or some kind of super remote from space that powers any number of spy satellites, and with simple logic and a quiet dignity, make it roll over, lie down, and purr like a jungle cat.
You know, of course, that the truth is as opposite as you can get to that. I am waving at you here from China, where I am banging my head against a computer keyboard, and then wandering off for waffles with #$%^&* imprinted on my forehead, and a chin full of CVBNM<.
What I have spent the evening doing, here in China, was sitting at work
very very late, actually, which has nothing to do with technology,
really, unless it is the technology of suck which is a very deep
concept we should all think about for a minute. Later. And then, I went
out for a drink, which also has very little to do with technology,
though the bartender did have a very nice calculator on which he added
up our drinks incorrectly, so that I laughed at him in a smug fashion
that I was soon, as you might imagine, to regret, in a very ironic
fashion. At least, I think that’s irony. Do not ask me.
Here is the part where it all comes together. I came home, late, tired,
and stressed and I decided to burn the CDs for the CD exchange in which
I blithely agreed to participate in with my co-workers in lieu of
holiday gifts, without considering the very real possibility that I am
not the most reliable of trains chugging into the station. I am the
little engine who really shouldn’t.
The CDs I am to compile and burn and label need to be done for
tomorrow, because everyone is leaving on their very nice vacations. A
month ago, I busily made up my little song lists for each of them and
tweaked it—actual perfectionist kind of tweaking, you know, and here is
where the porn star nipples joke should go, except I am not going to
write it…please fill in yourself, as necessary. And so I started the
Burning Odyssey, and then abruptly stopped because fuck if I could make it work.
I spent about a week—a week!—rying to figure out where the “Burn
Disc” button was on iTunes. I looked at documentation and forums and
more documentation and I got frustrated at least twice a day and yanked
the iPod thingiecord out of the computer and stomped off in a huff
(after properly ejecting it, though, because I am not entirely dumb).
Then I got this idea where I was going to pull the songs off my iPod
with some kind of fancy program, to be named later, and use another
program to make the CDs except the program which I discovered turned
out to not be fond of mp4s, and you know what mp4s are? They are evil,
that’s what they fucking are. This is how nothing I know about stupid
Apple and their stupid iPods: I had no idea that the songs you buy
from iTunes are coded with evil and come in evil formats that are
incompatible with other formats and other evil things because they are
evil and they fill me with hate.
So, duh. And also, goodbye iTunes store. You were cool, before I knew you were evil. Please fall in a well.
There were frantic flurries of Google kinds of searches which would
uncover secret Jedi tricks to destroy the midi-chlorians of Apple
executives so they’d develop terrible gas they’d blame on their pets
and never get to ride on the Death Star ever again. These Jedi tricks
do not work. The Force is strong in Apple, and did I mention fuck you?
Especially fuck you for making me use retarded Star Wars metaphors.
Right. So I tried to find the songs in un-evil formats, and I failed,
and there was a lot of trudging up and down hills in the snow backwards
with no legs, and I gave up and at some point I heard a rumor that you
could burn a CD with the evil and then rip it into un-evil and filed
that away and weeks passed and then it was tonight, and I said oh!
There’s a deadline! And, huh! And hm. And goddamn it. I briefly
considered faking my own death. Instead, I opened up iTunes and
assembled my playlist and suddenly realized that when you have a
playlist, that is when the magic button appears. Fuck you, Apple.
And I clicked on the little button, and zoom! with the burning. Except
by zoom I mean that I have been sitting here for a good 20 minutes,
while it burned and burned and burned. And then I got up and wandered
off for waffles, and came back, and it was still burning, and then I
read both books of the new translation of Don Quixote and shaved the
cat and went around the world in a hot air balloon, and it is still
burning and I am, too. My heart is, anyway. With hate.
So I’ve got #$%^&* imprinted on my forehead, and a chin full of
CVBNM<, and all my illusions are shattered because I am too dumb to
find a button, not bright enough to burn a CD, and entirely too
irritated to live.