On small funerals, small breakdowns, and drunk writers

My computer died. It did not go quietly in its sleep. The end was a violent one, involving an angry cat with a cone around his neck, a bottle of beer, and corrosion. It all happened so quickly.

First, please check out this site that gives a great breakdown of everything to do if you (or a cat) spill something on your laptop. It's from a company that's trying to sell you their spill-cleaning service, and I'm not vouching for this, but their basic instructions are a comprehensive list of things you should do if you find yourself in this unfortunate situation. Look at this now, I'm telling you, because after you spill beer on your laptop, you can't get on the internet to look up what to do about it. This may seem like an obvious point, but internet dependency (more on that later) will blind you to many otherwise-obvious facts.


That's my computer. Isn't it cute? I bought this computer in 2005, right after I had finally committed to an MFA program and was making plans to move to Boston. It was my first Mac. I went off to graduate school with this computer and I wrote my thesis on it. I've been writing my first book on it. I used it constantly. If proof is necessary, check out the keyboard:



I wore a good number of keys clean of their markings. Like I said, I used this computer constantly.

So when the beer spilled on the computer, I panicked. I yelled at the cat, then turned the computer off, mopped up excess liquid, and sat staring at it, wondering how long it would be until I could turn it on again. When I did the next day (24 hours later), it came on, but some things were a little messed up. I took this as a good sign. A few days after that, the computer wouldn't even turn on.

At the Mac store, the guy told me he needed to take my computer "in the back" to see how extensive the damage was. It's never a good sign when they need to take your computer in the back. He came out looking grim and told me that the beer was eating away at the mother board. So are you telling me that the computer is dead, I asked, I think multiple times. And finally he said it: yes.

I had gone into the Apple store thinking that if the computer was indeed dead, I would look around at the new models and start thinking about a new laptop. That's the kind of person I am: I need a computer. But I heard the news, and all I could do was pack up my dead computer while the Apple guy tried to tell me I could at least sell it for parts (as if!), and rush away from the store. On the street back in my neighborhood, I started crying. And then later, in my kitchen with my roommate and friend Daniel looking on in horror, I blubbered about how I'd written my thesis on that computer, how that computer had been with me through a lot in the past 4 years, how only I could type on it because all the keys were worn off.

What was my problem? I hate crying on the street. I hate crying in my kitchen. It's embarrassing.

I should have known that this would happen. I had, only a few nights before that, decided to do an experiment while hanging out at home and see how many times I had the urge to look something up on the internet, or use the computer at all, for that matter. This is the list:

google how to cook beets
change my gmail status: look at the moon!
google when the February full moon is
post pictures on facebook
change gmail status: nothing like clean sheets
blog about doing laundry
google if it's going to freeze tonight
google the equivalent sugar for stevia
google Au Revoir Simone lyrics
make an anti-V-day mix on itunes

Whoa. That's a lot of computing for one night. My internet addiction was clear, but what was more than that was my dependence on my computer. I couldn't be without it. It had been with me through a difficult move to a new city, a time of friendlessness, provided many chats and emails between friends who lived far from me. We had developed an emotional relationship......or.....eerrr....I had. (I even went so far as to compare myself to those people who fall in love with inanimate objects who I had recently read about on, of course, the internet. Thankfully, I decided that was an unfair comparison. (Please do click on the link, though, and watch the incredibly disturbing video.))

But seriously, my computer dying really bummed me out. I'm planning a funeral of sorts. My friend Dan pointed out that if a writer's computer has to die, dying from a beer spilled by a cat must be the best way to go. I couldn't agree more.

I can't help but notice that this all happened just as AWP (the annual booze-fueled writers conference) is gearing up in Chicago. I've attended AWP the past two years and couldn't make it this year, but I've requested drunk dials from the windy city and I know that I will get them. So happy AWP, happy Valentine's Day, and hooray for old, broken computers and their addicted owners.