Pride goeth before destruction, my friends, and an haughty spirit before a fall.
I set myself an impossible Friday and then everything, just everything went right. The lady in the bank was helpful when I, like an imbecile, had left home with almost no way of proving my identity other than the name tag sewn in my underpants.
The man at the garage was helpful, speedy and, for all I know, good value for money changing my baldy Kojak tyres, or racing slicks as I had come to regard them.
There was some incident free supermarket shopping. Wunderbar, all very encouraging just not very entertaining.
Then I made the arse fall off the day by buying a new computer.
In the words of Homer Simpson: Why. Must. Everything. Be So. Complicated?
I’ve bought a desktop Mac to fart around with photos, music and other media on and to act as a back up for the Sony Vaio laptop I do my work on. It all looks dead straightforward. The Mac stuff works straight out of the box as advertised, but at some point in the byzantine process of transferring iTunes from one computer to another my music seems to have vanished into hyperspace.
No problem. It’s all backed up, but bloody hell. Putting vinyl on to audiocassette was never this complicated. One of the reasons I’m so peeved is that I have actually paid for all this stuff. I’m not trying anything immoral. I just want to hear some of the stuff I paid money for.
It’s like the adverts with the doomy intonations at the beginning of every fucking DVD I buy. “Don’t be doing illegal downloads!” they admonish. But, but, but I didn’t.
There’s a danger when protection measures go over the top, as with the police banning public photography in the name of counter-terrorism, that you don’t make anything safer. You just piss off the law-abiding majority who didn’t used to be a problem.
The Mac has admittedly been beautiful to use so far, as everybody claims, but it’s not geared up for writing at all. I’ve ended up buying Microsoft Office for the Mac and it was almost a relief to get the terse gnomic user-hostility that MS is justifiably famous for. I’ve been trying to set-up Entourage so I can read my emails from my desktop and it’s like talking to the bloody sphinx.
It wants to know what my POP server and SMTP server is and is remarkably unforthcoming on what POP or SMTP might mean or how I might find the information out.
Am I just dim?
I know, I know. It’s the first bit of a learning curve and it’ll all be fine in a month, but as far as work today has gone I’d have been better off with a piece of paper and a pencil.