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Yesterday I discovered that one of the computers recently acquired by my office came with a DVD drive. We don't have much use for these things here, so I spoke to the woman whose computer it was, and she said she didn't need it. I spoke to the boss, and I got permission to replace it with a normal CD drive and $20. A nice bit of this morning was therefore spent on the floor with my Box of Many Screwdrivers, prying open the computer and having a go at things. I didn't get to do the swap because the case refused to cooperate on one side, so I couldn't get at the set of screws on the side with the motherboard tray, but it *will* be mine. Believe me on this. It *will* be mine.
I've come to the conclusion that I"m very nearly happiest when I've got a screwdriver in my hand. The screwdriver implies that I"m doing something, usually tinkering around with techtoys of some kind. I built my computer Victor in 1999, using two of my father's screwdrivers and a long pair of tweezers; I've told my dad that the only things in the house that I really want left to me in his and Mom's will are the Magic Red Screwdriver and a frying pan we recently acquired. (It's a nonstick frying pan, but it has the best heat distribution I've ever seen, and it's *almost* as wonderful to cook with as my carbon steel wok.) The Magic Red Screwdriver has fulfilled virtually every techtoy-taking-apart need I've ever had. Its handle is about as long as a standard pack of gum, and the metal bit is a little shorter than that - on one end. See, this is a Magic Screwdriver because you can pull out the metal bit and flip it around, and one end of the metal bit is flathead while the other is Phillips...
*ahem* Anyway. The Magic Red Screwdriver is important because it is small, and useful, and versatile, and it means I get to feel like I'm participating in one of the Great Secrets of Understanding How Things Work. Before college, I wanted to be a doctor. One of my favourite video games was Life and Death - aka The Appendectomy Simulator. (Fun fact my sister discovered: if you start the operation without turning on the gas, your patient screams and the head of the medical school drags you out of the OR to deliver an incredibly sarcastic lecture on Sharp Things.) That was a lot of the same feeling - look, look what I can do! I can take things apart! I can put things together! I can open up things that no one else would dare to open up, take out bits, put new bits in, and make it all work! I am part of the priesthood of People Who Know How To Do Things!
I ran into organic chemistry my sophomore year at college, which is why I'm now in an MIS master's program instead of medical school somewhere in Ohio or something, but it's still the same feeling. When I asked this co-worker about swapping drives, she gave me this awed look and asked how I was going to do that. Told her I just open up the computer, disconnect a few cables, unscrew some stuff, slide the drive out and replace it with a different one. She looked at me like I'd just proposed doing a kidney transplant on closed-circuit tv. I keep forgetting that I'm not *like* the other children. That's the price of being in the Priesthood of Knowing How To Do Things. I mean, I can deal with that - my senior year at college I leaned out my window at Midwinter and bellowed to the skies that I would never be normal again - but it's a little jarring to have the contrast brought home to me like that. I feel kind of sorry for folks who're that unfamiliar with the computer. Then again, I fall into roughly the same category in other areas - couldn't milk a cow to save my life, haven't the foggiest idea how to deal with a malfunctioning air conditioner or home furnace, etc. - so it's not too bad.
But I *really* like having a screwdriver in my hand. They say 'the computer you want costs $5000'. I don't think that's quite right. The computer I want has two or three parts that need upgrading, because that means I get to play with it. The joy's not in the having, it's in the making and the tinkering.
(Side note - I've been accused of being a nocker in WoD changeling terms. I don't think this is quite right. Come and see what I do in the kitchen before you make that particular proposal, m'kay?)
I've come to the conclusion that I"m very nearly happiest when I've got a screwdriver in my hand. The screwdriver implies that I"m doing something, usually tinkering around with techtoys of some kind. I built my computer Victor in 1999, using two of my father's screwdrivers and a long pair of tweezers; I've told my dad that the only things in the house that I really want left to me in his and Mom's will are the Magic Red Screwdriver and a frying pan we recently acquired. (It's a nonstick frying pan, but it has the best heat distribution I've ever seen, and it's *almost* as wonderful to cook with as my carbon steel wok.) The Magic Red Screwdriver has fulfilled virtually every techtoy-taking-apart need I've ever had. Its handle is about as long as a standard pack of gum, and the metal bit is a little shorter than that - on one end. See, this is a Magic Screwdriver because you can pull out the metal bit and flip it around, and one end of the metal bit is flathead while the other is Phillips...
*ahem* Anyway. The Magic Red Screwdriver is important because it is small, and useful, and versatile, and it means I get to feel like I'm participating in one of the Great Secrets of Understanding How Things Work. Before college, I wanted to be a doctor. One of my favourite video games was Life and Death - aka The Appendectomy Simulator. (Fun fact my sister discovered: if you start the operation without turning on the gas, your patient screams and the head of the medical school drags you out of the OR to deliver an incredibly sarcastic lecture on Sharp Things.) That was a lot of the same feeling - look, look what I can do! I can take things apart! I can put things together! I can open up things that no one else would dare to open up, take out bits, put new bits in, and make it all work! I am part of the priesthood of People Who Know How To Do Things!
I ran into organic chemistry my sophomore year at college, which is why I'm now in an MIS master's program instead of medical school somewhere in Ohio or something, but it's still the same feeling. When I asked this co-worker about swapping drives, she gave me this awed look and asked how I was going to do that. Told her I just open up the computer, disconnect a few cables, unscrew some stuff, slide the drive out and replace it with a different one. She looked at me like I'd just proposed doing a kidney transplant on closed-circuit tv. I keep forgetting that I'm not *like* the other children. That's the price of being in the Priesthood of Knowing How To Do Things. I mean, I can deal with that - my senior year at college I leaned out my window at Midwinter and bellowed to the skies that I would never be normal again - but it's a little jarring to have the contrast brought home to me like that. I feel kind of sorry for folks who're that unfamiliar with the computer. Then again, I fall into roughly the same category in other areas - couldn't milk a cow to save my life, haven't the foggiest idea how to deal with a malfunctioning air conditioner or home furnace, etc. - so it's not too bad.
But I *really* like having a screwdriver in my hand. They say 'the computer you want costs $5000'. I don't think that's quite right. The computer I want has two or three parts that need upgrading, because that means I get to play with it. The joy's not in the having, it's in the making and the tinkering.
(Side note - I've been accused of being a nocker in WoD changeling terms. I don't think this is quite right. Come and see what I do in the kitchen before you make that particular proposal, m'kay?)
