the daily snivel

I am torn. At once, I love and depend on technology in general (and computers in particular) for my livelihood, both as a law student and a web content weenie for the CBCN, but I'm also extremely hateful of its faults and idiosyncrasies at the same time. This is why I'm normally quite found of my Macintosh iBook. I find it normally reliable and stable and predictable and easy to use, and it has brought much joy to my computing tasks, including a substantial contract I worked on this summer transcribing a conference for Health Canada. My many praises of it can be read here. Unfortunately, it developed a problem last week. When I opened the screen on my once-trusty laptop to a 90-degree angle or so, the back light went out and the screen went dark. I was boggled by it. How could it be that, when I closed the laptop and put it to sleep the night before, it worked perfectly, and the next morning, when I opened it up again, it was so dodgy? I was immediately worried that I'd done something disastrous and started checking the Apple.com support site. It turns out that what happens is that the connecting wire that runs from the mainboard to the display passes through the hinge of the iBook's screen. Occasionally, after repeated opening and closing over an extended period of time, the wire can fray from the compression and twisting. This in turn means that the back light will not operate properly at certain angles.

Happily, I concluded earlier this year that the one time an extended warranty makes sense is when buying a laptop, given that these machines really do take a pounding (I mean, I bicycle with my laptop) parts and labour costs for just about any problem rapidly approaches the cost of buying a new computer altogether. So I shelled out the money for the "Applecare" plan on my iBook which, if purchased at any time before the original one-year parts and labour warranty expires, extends your coverage to three full years of worry-free maintenance. So, I took it in to my local B.Mac store, and am now depressingly low-tech in my day-to-day adventures as I wait for them to replace the cable.

Still, you say, I have my trusty rusty desktop PC running Windows 98 at home, so I wasn't entirely screwed, right? Ha, I say in reply.

Last night I was intending to tune in to my friend Satnaum's radio show, broadcast all the way from Lakehead University in Thunder Bay. She was planning to squeeze in some time geared to find cool new music for me. I was really excited. All I had to do was listen to a streaming media broadcast over the internet. So, I went to the website, and tried to listen to the broadcast.

Trouble.

Windows Media Player didn't recognize the format. I didn't have any other media players installed. The computer asked me if I wanted to upgrade to Windows Media Player 9. I said, OK. Then I spent three hours trying to download it over my 56k modem. I kept losing the connection. I decided to try updating my modem drivers, because between the modem upgrades at NCF and my roommate's ADSL connection that creates all kinds of crazy interference on my phone line (that I have fixed with the odd gadget that you plug into your phone jack when someone in your house has ADSL, but I remain suspicious about), I lose my connection a lot and the speed is terrible.
So, I: went to Motorola's website. Downloaded the drivers. Installed, rebooted. Found out the drivers didn't work. Uninstalled, rebooted. Found out that installing the new drivers had sent my old drivers to hell. Searched for the CD with my old drivers. Found that, installed the drivers. Rebooted my PC about seven more times in the process. Got back on the internet. Finished downloading WM9. Tried to install WM9.

Error message: "You must have Windows 98 Second Edition, Windows ME, Windows 2000, or Windows XP to run this application."

Me: "Arrgh!"

I only have Windows 98 crappy edition! So, no happiness for me. Damn computers. 

I made just the witsiest bit of a fool out of myself this week by professing my affection to someone amazing that I know, asking her out, and happily settling for her response of "Maybe -- I need to think about it," as a way of signifying that it wasn't so much me that was the source of her hemming and hawing so much as the prospect of romantic entanglement per se. At least, that was really the feeling I got after we chatted about the whole thing. We'd gone out on a date before, last year, but fun though it was, I moved much too quickly for my friend's comfort and we agreed to slow things way down. Recently, the quality of time we'd been spending together prompted me to ask her out again. I also told her that I was in no rush, and simply thought that she was a beautiful, brilliant, and funny person to spend time with. So in my mind, things were looking pretty happy, and I wandered about my merry way this week with such thoughts bubbling through my head.

This quickly proved itself a mistaken interpretation, and as a result I feel like quite the fool right now. At a party this weekend, it was clear that my friend -- though sociable, funny, and kind as always -- was not quite comfortable around me. A few of us went to a bar afterwards, and despite the fact that we were all quite drunk, flirty, and in no way socially inhibited (one person spent a fair bit of her time variously biting me, licking me, slapping my bottom, and telling me that I was "cute" in all my nervous squirming), my there seemed to be an invisible wall between my friend and myself (entirely aside from the physical barrier of Ms. Bitey, who was, I must mention, in no way attempting to get me in the sack).

Afterwards, still thoroughly tipsy but sober enough to be confused by how awkward things seemed, I did confide in a mutual friend who said that from everything she knew, our friend was definitely not interested in me. Any ambiguity could probably be attributed to trying to spare my feelings, but at the same time it was certain that she really was trying to say "no" to my question as clearly as possible.

Calamity.

And it's not the rejection that has me feeling awkward and unhappy. It's the confusion and the knowledge that this misunderstanding has potentially strained a friendship. I mean, I'm not a teenager anymore, and I don't hold long-standing unrequited crushes. As a curmudgeonly 27-year-old, it really has sunk in from long experience that the sting of rejection inevitably fades, and there's always someone else down the road, and even I will reject people from time to time. Meanwhile, there's both booze and the "Sad Rob" iTunes playlist (in contrast to the lesser-known "Happy Rob" playlist) that I listen to obsessively often to comfort me.

I wrote my friend a note explaining that I'd come to the conclusion that she wasn't comfortable with my affection, that we seem to have miscommunicated somewhere in the process, and that I promised to keep things on a purely friendly level from here on in.

I daresay there are friendships out there that have weathered worse.
 

Last night I went out to an amazing theme party -- set as a swinging Vegas schmooze night. Everyone had to come as their shiniest, sparkliest self. There was a clever couple who dressed as Roy and the tiger (actually, there were two... oh, how awkward it is when someone else wears the same thing you do), and the person who invited me dressed up as a cigarette girl, complete with a stunning corset, a blue wig, and a tray filled with Popeye Candy Sticks and chocolate cigarettes. I dressed up as "The Warmup Act Guy," in a shiny silver polyester button-down shirt, with the top two buttons undone so as to show off my sparse chest fuzz and a thick, jingly silver chain I bought at Claire -- a sort of de facto bling-bling mall chain filled with baubles and earrings and teenage girls dressed like prostitutes. I also had a genuine microphone, slickered-back hair, dress shoes, and the lyrics for "Fly Me to the Moon." The latter I was forced to sing while hanging out on the balcony.

I didn't really know anyone at the party, except for my aforementioned cigarette girl, and another law school friend who she invited. Nevertheless, I managed to mingle quite well and everyone thought my costume was a scream. I'm pretty good at witty banter, and everyone in attendance was cool, clever, and friendly, which is bound to make me feel sociable (as is a copious intake of beer). The music was a selection fit for the Ultralounge collection, and much booze and merriment was had by all. Afterwards, I went out with my beautiful and brilliant friend and a couple of her chums for some late-night fried things, and we chatted about music, Coronation Street, newspaper reporters, and the best place in Ottawa to get a really good hamburger (or veggie burger) with sweet potato fries (it's called "The Works," by the way). After all that, I didn't get home until nearly four in the morning.

So, yep, I had a great time. Talked a lot, laughed a lot, met a lot of swell people, and flirted a little.

I think my favourite part of the evening was when my friend hugged me goodnight. It was something she hadn't done before, and it made me realize how much I enjoy spending time with her. She always makes me think, and always makes me smile. It was a nice way to say she's enjoying her time with me as well.