Thursday, August 11, 2005

Ladies and Gentlemen, if you please, it is with the greatest delight that I welcome you to my blog on this historic occassion.

The occassion is this. I have started a blog. While I understand this is hardly a rarity in my demographic/profession/age bracket, this is for me, an event more momentous than anything else that is likely to happen in the sweltering cesspool of ennui that is a New York City August.

What, you may ask, as you pull lazily from the lukewarm bottle of Amstel Light nestled in your sweaty palm might have inspired me to such a dubious end? (By the way, throw out the beer bottles in your room. You are disgusting. Also, drinking beer left unrefrigerated and open for days at a time can give you botchulism. If this is not exactly a fact, it is close enough.)

Well, friends, today my computer broke.

For weeks, my computer, the machine that has borne silent witness to so many desperate grapplings with my lazy and frankly, overweight Muse, had hinted that all was not well in the mysterious tangle of its musculature. The screen flickered dangerously, on and off, on and off, like the amber eyes of a fickle, pugnacious gypsy. The computer was playing a dangerous game, but I played along. I followed its steps as it led its sadistic Seguedilla, winding, twisting, winking. I thought it was a phase.

I was wrong.

This morning, the screen turned off, and I knew this time it was different. There would be no compromise this time, no bribes. No cajoling, no bargaining, no magic combinations of curse words and naked aggression upon its body could bring it back. It was gone. Just...gone. So...cold. Mother, when will the spring come again?

The screen was black, but if I tilted it just so and squinted, hard, I could make out the fuzzy shadows of the world inside, its cheerful applications, its matter-of-fact questions. "Do you want to save?" "YES! YES! I DO!" They seemed trapped, jailed in a veil of darkness, or fading slowly like the faces of the dead from one's memory, as they recede into the shadowy swamp of the 90% of our brain we don't use, the part that contains things like the urge to feast on the still-warm flesh of our own species and wants to have sex with our grandfather.

The hard drive was in tact. This was important to remember. Ever predictable, I panicked. I'm sure the fine folks at Apple Care have had some training on easy stuff, like suicide or rape hotlines before they are allowed to man the phones. When I burst into tears, Gary knew just what to say.

"It's my fault. I know it. I must have done something wrong. I didn't...turn it off enough. If only..."

"Rachel," he said firmly but kindly. "You can 'what if' yourself 'til the end of time. It's not your fault. Computers are like people. Eventually, it's just their time."

"But, so soon. Why?"

"Four years is a long time for a computer, in this day and age. It had a good life. Focus on the good times. And then, you need to move on. Do you know where your nearest Apple store is?"

I did.

The man who sold me my new computer had modified his earlobes with thick cylinders of clear plastic, so that I could see through them to the neat row of monitors behind. I thought this was a good sign. Surely a person that had made solid parts of his body traversable and transparent had nothing to hide, no hidden agenda. I bought at once, though heavy with the unsettling knowledge that I could not bring myself to go an entire day without a computer, let alone the seven days of heavy morning that Jewish tradition allows. And so for the new computer, I thought, a blog. A new machine deserves a new identity.

I can't bring myself to put away the old one. As of now, it's still in my bed, looking smudged and forlorn besides its pristine replacement. Edgar Allen Poe slept with the corpse of his young bride for months, or so the story goes. I don't think it's unreasonable to hold on to my old machine for a little while, at least until a proper reliquary can be found.

Also of note today--a giant lump of frozen excrement fell from the lavatory of a plane and through the bedroom skylight of a young Austrian boy as he slept, narrowly missing his bed. I hope his father explained that as the rain is is tears and the lightning his orgasm, so God took a shit. On him. How does it feel to be the one God takes a shit on?

And so begins my blog. I shall post many things--poems, stories, mild pornography, medical test results. I will probably not post many links to things, as it is beyond my technical capabilities.

Thank you. See you tomorrow.


Blogger Krista said...

I very much enjoyed reading what you have created thus far, especially the Austrian boy antidote. So, welcome to the world of blogging! I too have dipped my toes into this venue of communication - so some warnings:
1. html is your friend, enemy, and mother. Be prepared for a whirlwind of excitement and then growing hatred for things like “tags”
2. Blogging, like my childhood parakeet Dale, can be fun and addictive at first but can soon grow tiresome and before you know it you find it lying stiff in its unkempt cage afflicted with some kind of dirty bird disease. But, this may just be my problem with commitment as witnessed by recent forays in and quick departures from latchhooking, jigsaw puzzles, Crunch gym, and dating boys.
Oh, I miss Dale…and my blog. Rachel your genius has inspired me already! I predict great things for this website.
xo, krista

6:39 AM  
Blogger st. felicitas of pugnacia said...

Rachel, if he slept with corpse of his bride for months she would be gooey and maggoty. And depending on how many months magotty, drippy, and slowly dessicating, depending how humid the weather was when she died. I think this an urband legend. That said, my expired computer is under a shroud, behind a door, inside my closet. Sometimes I think I hear it's hearbeat in the wall.

8:16 AM  
Blogger shanna said...

hiya, rachel!

1:04 PM  

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