Brats of the Silicon Nation

So, I work in support. Not surprisingly, people who can't work their own computers often irk me.

Well, it occured to me just now, we have a bit of a funny situation. It appeared in my head something like this:

A bratty child is given an entire art supply store, and an exhaustive reference library with books on absolutely any kind of art topic that's ever been written about.

Already accomplished in crayons on paper, and fingerpaints on just about everything, as well as at least puling the books off of the shelf and dumping them all over the floor, if not rubbing smudgy fingers on the photos in National Geographic, it is assumed that with meager effort other things to do within this vast new art playspace might be explored.

Nope.

The kid not only won't use any of the other art supplies, he won't look in the books for help, he won't even look FOR the books. He might want to paint a picture, but he wants someone else to show him how to do it.

Yes, we're certainly illustrating the insecure and lazy side of human nature here, but for me, the bratty kid is every other user I support on our network.

"I have to get X done and so I learn that part, but when someone needs Y done, I can't possibly be expected to learn to use the computer I have here, or, heaven forbid, read any of the plethora of help that came with the software I use, or any of what's out there on the internet."

I often wish I had a room filled with those squishy red rubber balls you played dodgeball with as a kid. I would go in that room, put on some goggles and kneepads, and kick the crap out of the balls until I fell down exhausted (and thus the kneepads.) Your foot sinks into that kind of ball in a very certain way- it's quite a satisfying thing to really lay into one.

The funny thing is, I know I have done the very same thing in some other situation. Support work may not be the field in which to gain a higher love for your fellow man.

Waking up

The other day I woke up somewhat early. I have been doing this from time to time lately as the warm weather isn't the best for sleeping.

I woke up and formed a thought.

It was, I suppose, the continuation of something I had been dreaming- the lesson the children take away from the fable, the conclusion with wise-sounding narrator.

"There are two ways to achieve immortality- one is through world-wide, history-book type fame, the other is through raising a family."

It's strange to wake up and finish thinking about something you do not recall having an extended internal dialogue about. I am not typically of much use until my caffiene and sugar seeps in, usually around 10am, so, prolific and lucid thinking just as my eyes opened, well, woke me up even more.

Obsessive Compulsive

The definition, well, I'm sure it's handy here on the internet. Throw a little ritual self-abuse in there, you have the makings for a movie script.

Tonight I am looking at the black thing that sits on the floor next to my desk.

I am trying to think through how to completely rebuild my PC without hassling myself too much. Why? Because my other latest massive waste of time, Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, has decided to stop running entirely. I completely uninstalled it, reinstalled. Poot.

A four-day weekend, and I am focusing on fixing a computer (indoors) so I can play a game (indoors). Cut to the scene in Ferris where he casts open his curtains and exclaims: "How could I possibly be expected to handle school on a day like this?"

Human behavior is a perplexing thing.