The 90s & Busted Computers

This afternoon, after I returned from doing the laundry, I sorted through socks while watching a marathon of VH1’s “VH1 Presents The 80s” and it occurred to me: if we’re all supposed to identify with the decade we “grew up” in, or rather, the decade we graduated high school in, does that make me fucked up because I identify more with the 80s than I do with the 90s. I mean, c’mon… let’s be honest: Shit happened in the 90s but nothing anywhere near as memorable as the crap that went on the 80s. Are you with me?

I’m just sitting here, trying really hard to remember what the hell happened in the 90s that wasn’t just a rehash of previous decades. The 90s were the 80s at the beginning and end and the 70s in the middle. Outside of Kurt killing himself I can’t think of anything monumental that happened. Maybe it’ll just take some more distance. I don’t know.

Both of my computers are having troubles. My laptop has a non-functioning “M” key and the space-bar doesn’t work. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ship it off to Gateway country to get it fixed. I love my laptop though. I don’t want to be without it. I don’t want the U.S. Postal Service or UPS or FedEx to fuck with my baby. Isn’t there somewhere local I could take it? Why couldn’t the local Gateway store handle it? Why don’t they keep technicians around on location?

My desktop’s soundcard is on the fritz and I can’t decide whether to buy into Creative Labs theory that its software based or my own theory that revolves around the hardware just getting old. Things seem to be getting progressively worse with it. I don’t know that installing some new software is going to fix the problem.

In all of my being flustered about this I have remembered what the other thing I wanted to talk to you about yesterday was. I heard on the radio the other day that the ScooperBowl was coming back to Boston.  The ScooperBowl, for those not in the know, is a big event hosted at City Hall Plaza and I think it benefits the March of Dimes or some other charity. You pay five bucks for a spoon and then you wander the booths of various ice cream vendors and eat all of the delicious frosted treats you can stomach.

Last year it was convenient to go. It was right there on the walk between work and the train station. Colleen and I stopped by on our way to the train one afternoon and I’ve wanted to go back ever since. It was so good.

And I just realized that some of my Who’s Who entries have to be updated because Colleen’s still refers to us working at Press Access/LexisNexis and neither of us have the pleasure of being employed there anymore.