The Muse is ignoring me today.
The stark white blank Word page stares at me…mocking.
I usually am chock full of ideas.
Today, the brain, she no wanna create.
Since I normally comment on my life (hell, I made an entire post about breaking my jump drive) you’d think there would be plenty to discuss.
It’s all just kind of *meh* today.
Oh well. Check this space.
I’m gonna go hunt the Topic Fairy and drag her back by her wings.
I have this fabulous little SmartDisk drive that I adore.
It has this great form factor that rocks. It’s one inch by one inch square with a little flip out arm for the USB connector.
It is twelve nice-and-roomy GB’s. I admit when I bought it, I thought 12GB was an odd size, but whatever.
Been carrying this around in my backpack for about a year now. It has all of my blog post drafts, lots of photos, a couple videos, much of my writing and various other things. I just dig this little guy.
It’s what I use at work so no personal stuff ends up on the work machine. All safely put away on a jump drive. And I can take work files home on it and not have to carry my entire laptop.
About a month ago, my Little Drive turned up missing. I was distraught. I had gone sailing out of the office late for the shuttle bus and was just sure it had fallen out of my handbag as I ran.
I was heartsick. I had made that major IT error. I had failed to back it up. It had several original files on there, including the beginnings of a new novel. I was 6,000 words into it, and sure, I could recreate, but who wants to!?
Highly depressed, I went back to the online store where Little Drive was procured only to discover they no longer make the 12GB version. The best I could do was an 8GB, so I bought one.
I was too depressed to even fire up this new drive. Unsure what to do, I soldiered on. Until I got a call from security at work . Seems they found Little Drive on the shuttle bus. I almost wept with joy. I ran over the security department and retrieved my creative soul. I immediately brought it back to my desk and backed it up to my Big Daddy firewire drive.
Whew.
So, reunited, we began again, writing together, saving interesting tidbits. A letter to the editor. A draft of an entry to a local poetry contest. Yes! We were happy again, side by side.
Then there was yesterday…
For the past several days I’d had that odd back of my mind feeling that I needed to backup Little Drive. Paranoia, I think, after being parted. But when I got to work, I got out Big Daddy drive and backed Little Drive up.
Then I plugged Little Drive in and started working on some stuff.
Later, I had to attend a “lunch and learn” meeting that I’d rather have poked my eyes out than sit through…
So I decided to take my MacBook and “appear” to be working while really working on my own stuff. I had Little Drive attached to the MacBook. In a rush to get to the meeting, I hurriedly picked up my MacBook and whacked Little Drive on the underside of the shelf right above the laptop stand.
Broke the USB connector, yes I did. Well, it was connected…but hanging there by its blue and red and green and yellow wires…
I was able to gingerly plug it back in and it mounted. Yes! I pulled off the files I’d worked on that day (that didn’t make the morning backup) then I ejected the drive.
I peered into the little arm and thought “well, it’s connected, I’ll just push this back in and it will work fine.”
I’ll spare the suspense. I did and it didn’t. Meaning I fixed it but it no longer worked.
So I yanked the USB connecter back out. My “fix” had snapped off all the wires.
Damn.
I pried open the cracked plastic a bit and took a look. It didn’t look good. But I thought maybe I could take it home and fiddle with it. Ok, to be fair, since I’d backed it up, there was no need to resuscitate this drive…I’m just…emotionally attached to it.
Owing to being “raised by engineers” (an honor bestowed on me by the engineering team of which I was a part of…as their financial analyst…right out of college) I figured I could figure this out.
I mean, my dad could make a toaster last for thirty years, I could fix a damn USB connector!
The Good Man suggested that even if I fixed it, odds of “data loss” were high with my kludgy fix.
Well, he needn’t have worried.
In one of those bits made for sitcoms, the more I tried to fix it, the more I broke it. I kept trying to pull the wires out a bit more. Trying to take the shielding off so I could get more space. All I did was fray the wires to unrecognizablility.
Then I thought maybe I could pop out the 12 GB drive and put it in the 8GB case! The one with the working USB connector!
After busting it wide open, I discovered that, yeah, those wires were attached to the drive in such a way as to not be easily removed.
Basically, I pulled a big ol’ Bull in a China shop on this poor little drive. It’s now in many, many pieces on my desk at home.
*sigh* Gonna miss you, old friend…
So the new 8GB has gotten the call to the bullpen. You’re up, fella. Let’s see what you got.
I don’t have it.
Despite it’s virtuous qualities.
Was talking with a friend at work today (she’s my lunch buddy). We were lamenting a current frustrating situation involving both of us.
She said, “I know the universe must be testing my patience, this just has to be a lesson.”
I said, “Well, I must be having to learn this lesson just by being in proximity to you. I’m *sure* I’m good on the patience.”
To which we both burst out laughing.
I have to wonder how I got so damn impatient with the world.
Then I remember my hop-from-foot-to-foot-like-a-flea father and wonder how I ever could have ended up a patient person. He was a good man, but patience wasn’t his virtue either.
Ah well. I yam what I yam.
On this sleepy Monday morning, I made my usual walk to the CalTrain station, The Good Man at my side.
As we strolled on the platform the northbound train rolled by. TGM commented how some trains seem to be quieter than others. We pondered why that would be.
Then I observed that sometimes on the train it is a smooth ride and sometimes it gets this side-to-side sway that is not only nausea inducing, it makes it read hard to read.
I wondered why that happens sometimes, but not always. Is it the track they use? Or do they take a corner too fast? Or what?
Without any good answers, I boarded the train.
Stalking up and down the aisles, I discovered there were no seats to be found. “Hmph. Busy day,” I mused to myself, then took up a standing position in the vestibule near the front of one of the cars (where the doors are).
There I stood with several of my fellow riders when the Conductor came along, checking tickets. I see this guy most mornings. He’s a hard case guy. I would guess he’s been on the train a lot of years and is nearing retirement. I can say this for the guy, he’s not willing to take any guff off of anyone.
Clearly, the overindulged Bay Area youth with their Blackberries, iPods and laptops impress him not at all. A meat and potatoes guy, he’s short and thick fingered with a boiler belly and his conductor’s cap worn firmly on his graying head.
So I stand there, riding the train, sleepily looking out on the passing world when the train picks up speed. Boy did the car start a rockin’ back and forth. And squeaking. A metal on metal sound.
I looked over at the conductor, he’s got a wide stance, both black-booted feet planted firmly on the ground. No need to hang on for this man. Me, I’m wrapped around the steel pole like a recalcitrant stripper, barely able to keep my balance.
The Conductor casually lifts his walkie-talkie to his mouth and says, “Can you bring this thing down about 10 miles? Car 4002 has side sway.”
The Engineer replies, “You got it” and noticeably the train slows. The rocking stops.
“Thanks,” I said to the Conductor, “That’s a much nicer ride.”
“Yeah, this car has real bad side sway,” he gruffs out in reply.
I nod, “thanks” I say again, then most of the people around me also give a “thanks”.
The Conductor continues, “This is only a four car train today, it’s going to be that way for a while.”
I nod, understanding now why I couldn’t find a seat.
“They took all the handicapped cars out, doing some retrofit I think. So since all those cars are out, any of the other cars are in service whether they need repair or not. This one needs to be fixed, but that won’t happen for a while,” he says, chuckling and shaking his head in a world weary way.
I nod understandingly, and give him that “what are you gonna do” shrug.
“It’s been a tough day, twice we’ve had doors get stuck,” he continues.
“Won’t open or won’t close?” I question.
“Oh, they open fine, but they get stuck back in the mechanism and we can’t get them shut.” He shakes his head again. I nod again.
“And the handicapped cars, those are where we store the lavatory supplies. We have one bathroom on the train and there’s no toilet paper. We have to use paper towels. But you can’t flush paper towels so we have to put a yellow (hazardous) bag in there. And the sink don’t work. People are washing their hands with bottled water.”
I make a mental note to myself to make sure I use the loo before boarding the train this afternoon…
And I think, “wow, his day kind of sucks.”
“Ah well, it’s only downhill from there,” he says and shrugs, then picks up the PA mike and announces our pending arrival to Palo Alto.
He nimbly jogs down the steps off the train and onto the platform where a whiny kid approaches him saying, “The validator machine doesn’t work!”
The Conductor sarcastically replies, “What, OUR machines? I can’t imagine…”
He signs the ticket for the kid, makes his routine inspection at the stop, climbs back on and gets back to business.
All in a days work.
