Dear Technology Gods,

16 August 2011 1 Comment

I understand that in the past I have mocked you.

I have done things like wave pencils in front of malfunctioning computers. I have owned an abacus. I have persisted in using a phone that can barely make phone calls, much less triangulate my location and give me GPS directions that will get me to lunch at exactly the moment I complete my call.

I am deeply and abjectly sorry. I have tried to atone.

I thought that I would update the software and synch all my units with the latest and greatest code. I have been remiss. I would make amends.

I plugged my iPod into my computer. As you know, I rarely buy music and, consequently, rarely need to update the iPod. I had not realized that “rarely” had turned into “once in the long-ago and far-away,” and so I was mortified when iTunes flicked me the busy signal, flicked it again, and then popped up a message saying “WTF buttercup? This is the software equivalent of an 8-track… my god… do you realize what I’m going to have to….” and flicked me the busy signal again.

I am deeply and abjectly sorry. I have tried to atone.

I plugged in my Kindle and, when if flashed a sullen “This is just to tell you that my battery is so dead I can’t even bring up the ‘charging’ screen” screen at me, I removed it carefully from the leather cover, laid it softly on the fluffy new mouse pad I bought my computer, and humbly cleaned and conditioned the leather case. My Kindle would come back to life in luxury, as it deserves.

Unfortunately I did not consider that the cleaning products I use on my tack may be a little more… conditioning… than an eBook carrying case requires.

I am deeply and abjectly sorry. I have tried to atone.

I have tried, technology gods.

But you do understand that Texas is having a historic drought? We are under mandatory water restrictions. There is a burn ban in effect, and they say they will press gang your first born child and make them haul water from someplace more fortunate than us, like the Sahara, if we break the burn ban.

I cannot burn an abacus for you. I cannot light a torch of broken pencils and allow the scent of burning erasers to bring you greater glory.

I do not know what you want, Technology Gods.

I am deeply and abjectly sorry. I have tried to atone.

I tithed to Amazon. I bought Max Barry’s Machine Man, which was a more appropriate homage to Your Bytes than I could have ever imagined.

And still you are not pleased.

You have withdrawn your favor from me. Was it not enough that you monitored my blog for every definitive future statement and carefully rearranged reality to cause the opposite to happen? How else to explain the number of times I have said “Ro and I are going to…” only to find out that we most certain are not going to after all?

Was this not enough?

Was my crime so great that you had to tap into my email?

How else to explain that after a week of maybe-maybe notting over Ro’s intermittent offness I finally caved and emailed my vet: It’s probably an abscess. It’s worse than an abscess, except the part where it’s not as bad as an abscess. It’s still probably an abscess. But I give up. Please try to fit us in this week…

How else to explain that within hours of caving in and emailing the vet, the abscess popped with a vengeance?

I do not even know how to tell my vet that we’re all good now.

If I call, will that offend you more? Carrier pigeons snigger at my phone as they fly by. Calling will hardly exalt the glory of your eternal RAM.

If I email, will you… I can’t even think about what would happen if I send an email saying “It’s all good!”

I am deeply and abjectly sorry for what I have done.

I will break all the pencils in the apartment and drain the ink from all the pens if it will help.

I will upgrade my phone to one that is merely from the Dark Ages.

Whatever it takes, whatever you want, if only you will stop torturing me.

Love,

“Job Had It Easy” from Houston

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