Tale of Three, Not Two Computers

 

Yes, that's right, three computers, I have three computers. Am I alone in this? I haven't taken that survey yet. And not only do I personally have three computers, but there exist, in my house an additional three, two desktops and one laptop. When my son comes home from college, one more laptop makes its appearance for a sum total of seven of those infernal yet utterly important machines.

 

Talk about dependence, talk about taking hold, taking control, finding an integral place in our lives. The question is why in the world I need three computers for my own personal use. Well, each one fulfills a specific function. Really, my two laptops and one desktop, one running Vista and two running XP, have found a certain raison d'etre, a reason for being. My computer life has become so drilled down, so precise that it requires the nuances of three separate computers.

 

My children think I am totally antiquated, PC user that I am. Even three computers do not remedy that perception. They, of course, would think only of letting MACs intrude upon their lives. My daughter, an artist to her very core, resides on hers. It is her right arm. She is never without it. She lives her creative and social life through it. Her look of total exasperation and snobbery defy description when I point out the cuteness of my net book, appropriately named Karen's Little Computer by her faithful and ever handy-dandy computer engineer.

 

My son, on the other hand, a gamer, through and through, has quietly complained to me that MACs just don't have the power of PCs for running whatever deadly killing game he'd like to be playing. He dare not say that too loudly, for fear of swift retribution from his sister, he spoke only in total whispered confidence to me, one of those secrets that exist between mother and son. I secretly think it may be a blessing in disguise, less distractions, fewer hours spent screen sucking, and more time spent studying.

 

So three computers, one in my office, the big one, I call it, the workhorse, the one I depend on for completing my daily grind; second, my big laptop, the 17 inch screen, powerful, used to running large graphics and games, the one I inherited from my son, that sits on my dining room table, affording me a change of venue from my office environment. It has saved me when the drudgery of my workplace has dragged me down and a change of view was just the thing. And then there's Karen's Little Computer, the latest addition to the group. Difficult to type on but in spite of that drawback, it has become the newest love of my life.

 

Small, cute, and fast, yes fast, in spite of running what some might call antiquated XP software because it takes up less memory. I love that I turn it on, and within seconds, it is up and running. There's nothing on it but the basics, no big programs, no pdfs, no jpegs, no large, cumbersome files. It fits into the fast, no wait life style into which I've been steadily drawn. It suits my impatience, my need for quickness and speed. It's nimble and lively, almost bubbly in its computer joie d'vive. Keeping it clean and devoid of anything but the strict necessities of computing is my goal.

 

The workhorse is loaded, the big laptop encumbered, but Karen's Little Computer is free as a bird and will remain so. It has its skin, a nylon sleeve that fits it like a glove, sleek and streamlined. Light and easy to tuck under my arm and carry or slide into my small pink briefcase, it's perfect. And so I wax on and on, swelling with pride and praise. Not that I don't like my other computers, I do. They have their roles and important roles at that but it's totally cool to have my little computer, portable, skinny, light and happy. And yes, the other day, it saved my snobby MAC daughter's butt when we realized that we could sit in a restaurant and make an appointment to take the test for her learner's driving permit.

 

"I have my computer," she said whipping her MAC out of her bag. "We don't need yours," she said, sneering with complete Apple snobbery.

 

"Yours doesn't have wireless capability," I said. I watched as she started to insist that it did and then realized that we were sitting on a restaurant patio, not within range of our home network. I think I may have gained some small amount of credibility in her MAC-infested mindset as I deftly soared to the Department of Motor Vehicles web site and we set up her appointment.