I’ve been told I live life as if it’s a movie or a book or a play or a porno. Or, and this is the interpretation I’d tend to agree with, something which is perceived as high-art by the artist and a select group of loons and is perceived as trash by almost everyone else. Whatever be the case, I can claim that my life is usually quite extraordinary. Even now, it is extraordinarily frustrating. I was in my trademarked Russian authors phase yesterday, which is basically a dangerous concoction of me behaving like a attention-deprived puppy dog (or mangy mutt) and a character from Tolstoy or Dostoevsky. In the words of a namesake… “That’s Sad!”
Life was good till sometime ago. *cough* Who am I kidding?
In any case, my Internet connection is finally on it’s way. Any day now and I will have anywhere between 300 to 512 kbps of unlimited broadband joy at my fingertips. But…
I call my dekstaap by a very specific and very apt name. HAL. Not only because it’s Harish ALagappa’s PC, but because it has a mind of it’s own and it is the 3rd most erratic and random mind I know of. I’ve spent all day trying to switch the damn thing on and watching with steadily increasing despair as it refuses to proceed beyond the BIOS setup screen. One might even say that the entire evening has spent thus:
Hello, HAL do you read me, HAL?
Affirmative, Dave, I read you.
Open the pod bay doors, HAL.
I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.
What’s the problem?
I think you know what the problem is just as well as I do.
So, around the time I can expect the Internet shall arrive at my doorstep, I shall be at Nehru Place trying to get my personal Judas that tries to pass itself off as a PC repaired for the fifth time in the seven months that I’ve owned it. Damn. The only thing that’s been more unpredictable in these last six months has been… Nah! Obvious joke!
Anyway, back to the PC…
Dave? Just what do you think you’re doing, Dave?