LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
Gay 'n Gray: Live Show |
by John Siegfried |
I'm not computer literate. But I'm not exactly computer illiterate either. I can "boot" a computer, and find my way in and out of AOL without disaster, most of the time. Although I must confess that, now that I know that "boot" means "start" and not "kick," I still have the overwhelming urge at times to kick and not start. Recently this was more than confirmed in my "Live Show" debacle. A few weeks ago, unsolicited by me, an icon of a curvaceous half-nude teen-age girl appeared on my screen, the symbol for "Live Show." Now that's about as much of a non-starter turn-on for a gay senior male as you can dream of, so I ignored it. But after its reappearance day after day, I decided to delete the icon and thereby reduce my 7 a.m. stress level. Opening my e-mail comes after coffee and the New York Times, and before breakfast and making the bed. It's not that I'm compulsive or anything, it's just that early toilet training has life-long effects. To my dismay no matter what computer key I hit, no matter what combo I tried, I couldn't get rid of my over-ripe Lolita. My partner Howard is a computer genius of sorts (at least that's how he makes his living) so I enlisted his help. He did the same things I did, but with confidence. The result, however, was still the same. Lolita lives. That forced me to call my "computer guru," Gaylen (yes, that really is his name), and he's a sweetheart. For a ridiculously low fee Gaylen tutors me, answers my questions, installs new programs on my system and gives me a sense of computer confidence that I ill deserve. He solved my problem-the hard way. He transferred all my personal stuff to disc, removed everything from the system, including Lolita, and then reinstalled Word, AOL and the programs I use. Coincidentally, and simultaneously, I had a printer problem as well. Actually, the problem wasn't my printer, but my Hewlett-Packard computer. For reasons beyond my ken the computer and the printer weren't talking to each other, kind of like my condo board at the end of a meeting. HP, when I called, told me to go to a local service agent whose name they supplied, but the service agent told me that, because I was fortunate enough to have a model starting with the letters MX, I'd have to send my computer back to HP. Hewlett-Packard confirmed that advice, but first they would send me a box and packaging instructions. For some $270 I'd have my computer back in 30 days. For $300 I'd get it in 15 days and for the bargain price of $325 I'd have it in nine days. I don't know what I was thinking of when I said nine days. I don't need a computer for business and most of the time I'm unsure whether my computer is a source of pleasure or pain. But I said "nine days," as if a computer was a crucial part of my life. Since I don't walk down the street with a cell phone to my ear, I thought the rapid return computer gambit would make me sound important. While most of the time I'm mild mannered, I did get rather vexed when a week went by and I still didn't have the shipping box. So on call # 3 to HP I switched from receptive and reasonable to, "Where the ##**>>^#, is my box?" Now that's a question no gay man should ever have to ask. From a personal perspective it was a rhetorical question. I was well aware of where my box was. But from a Hewlett Packard perspective I was chagrined and appropriately subdued to learn that the shipping box had been sent by FedEx the day I placed my order. It had been received at the front desk of my condo five days previously, but no one had notified me. When my computer returned, it was obvious that the computer and the printer had been in some sort of group therapy because they were now talking to each other. However, HP had again removed all programs from my system and Gaylen came to the apartment to get me up and going-figuratively speaking. Then after all this, a newspaper column on computers gave me the info I needed to get rid of "Live Show" in the first place. Just for kicks I tried to follow the newspaper instructions of what keys I had to press and what sequence to press them in. It all made sense to click on Start, then Settings and Control Panel, but when I had all ten fingers employed on various parts of the keyboard simultaneously, I had to use my right knee to hit the delete button. You guessed it, my knee was too big and hit "delete, end, page down and insert" all at once. Somehow that brought the "Live Show" icon back but this time with a half price offer. I figure that if I subscribe at the new rate, in 32 years I'll have saved enough to pay for my repairs to date. That, of course, is in 2002 dollars and excluding inflationary and stock market trends. The truth is that if I want a live show, I have a partner-that beats a computer any day. John Siegfried is a retired pediatrician and a retired pharmaceutical executive. He resides in Fort Lauderdale but retains strong ties to Rehoboth Beach. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 12, No. 04, May 3, 2002 |