Archive fevers.
I finally got my laptop back yesterday, hopefully bringing to a close the frustrating saga of transit to and from my workplace in the Back Bay and the Cambridgeside Galleria, a mall which is temporarily inacessible by T because of condo development around the Lechmere station. Of these lunch-hour journeys I can only say...well, they were expanses of misery and rage relieved only by the agreeable taste (and cost) of the no-longer-boycotted Taco Bell in the mall's food court.
Because I'm under warranty, a lot of hardware--including my highly defective LCD screen--has been replaced for free. The drawback is that despite what the despicable cargo shorts-wearing tech people at the Cambridge Apple store* assured me, the hard drive was completely erased. I'd backed up everything except what was most valuable and difficult to replace: my nearly 20 GB of music.
So now begins the painful process of reloading all of my CDs--and learning to cope without the loss of the albums I'd misplaced over the years, or left around Conmag for others to take, or downloaded from Jason Ng. Unlike the time that my dad lost my books in the mail, I have no one to blame except for myself and my cavalier attitude towards backing up files.
But outside of the world of self-pity, I've been reading a great book: the (second?) London Review of Books anthology, which encompasses the mid 1980s through mid 90s. And the house feels alive with activity, with myself and Adam gearing up to write review articles and the possibility of a Gravity's Rainbow book club seeming more and more plausible by the day (or not). The Red Sox are in possible decline, though Mark Bellhorn's thumb injury may open the space for a triumphant new surge ahead of the AL East pack. Even Big Brother is getting interesting. Personally, I'm planning a little project to help me fix my writing, so that you won't have to suffer through the solipsism and torturous sentence structures of posts like this.
* I was told to "Save it for the blog," but I couldn't hold it in, and so spent most of my ill temper in an incomprehensible outburst against the Apple store employees--and the marketization of the nerdy more generally--on our ride back from Shaw's yesterday.
Because I'm under warranty, a lot of hardware--including my highly defective LCD screen--has been replaced for free. The drawback is that despite what the despicable cargo shorts-wearing tech people at the Cambridge Apple store* assured me, the hard drive was completely erased. I'd backed up everything except what was most valuable and difficult to replace: my nearly 20 GB of music.
So now begins the painful process of reloading all of my CDs--and learning to cope without the loss of the albums I'd misplaced over the years, or left around Conmag for others to take, or downloaded from Jason Ng. Unlike the time that my dad lost my books in the mail, I have no one to blame except for myself and my cavalier attitude towards backing up files.
But outside of the world of self-pity, I've been reading a great book: the (second?) London Review of Books anthology, which encompasses the mid 1980s through mid 90s. And the house feels alive with activity, with myself and Adam gearing up to write review articles and the possibility of a Gravity's Rainbow book club seeming more and more plausible by the day (or not). The Red Sox are in possible decline, though Mark Bellhorn's thumb injury may open the space for a triumphant new surge ahead of the AL East pack. Even Big Brother is getting interesting. Personally, I'm planning a little project to help me fix my writing, so that you won't have to suffer through the solipsism and torturous sentence structures of posts like this.
* I was told to "Save it for the blog," but I couldn't hold it in, and so spent most of my ill temper in an incomprehensible outburst against the Apple store employees--and the marketization of the nerdy more generally--on our ride back from Shaw's yesterday.
posted by ch at 7:08 PM
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