I scarcely heard my Mac Air laptop slipping ever so gently off the slide of my sensuede recliner as I moved to answer a phone this morning, and couldn’t believe that a gentle little slip-slide could devastate the screen, causing a garish puncture-like black hole in the screen: a crater with jagged lines rippling outward. (After all the travel, planes and ferries left it intact). Did you ever have this happen? Did I note the drop was really gentle?
Kvetch: Why is it that installing newly purchased software is such a nightmarish,
utterly galling, stalling, caterwauling experience? Now I see why IT people are usually
brought in for software installs, and why “Congratulations!” are given, and are in order, if you ever make it through….because the only thing that could have doubled the pain of the ripped screen of my nice-n-lite Mac Air (one day before leaving town for weeks) was the Sisyphean experience of trying to install basic software into a new machine. The installation creators are sadists, this much I know: they start out with the simple trickery of giving the appearance of successful installation (wow, look it’s done already) followed by an amiable-sounding request for the 27 Key code on the 4th right-angle flap cattycorner the italicized barcode numeral, but soon…little by little, you are sucked into cyclical torture tests from which, after round 3, you know there is no return: to gain entry into the webpage that will send the 17 digit verification number, with which you can then request the 25 character PIN code, which lets you download an application in order to receive an e-mail that gives you top secret information about where to apply for the 19 symbols for the check-support Purchaser’s Product Code, which, if successful, reveals (at last!) the Identification Product Consumer punch number for an application for the pre-final Code Sequence Check, which gets you into the personal Administration Manifold Passkey in 6 groups of five, that, once reached (and good luck proving you’re not a robot), permits you to ask someone to please please send the “nearly there” update code for the Code Doc website where the powerful installation rulers share a special installation frog’s wart incantation spell after which it all becomes simple as you are wheeled into the E.R. and you are allowed to plead your case to the Code Doc (and never mind the extra insult of “code” being a word for this month’s blog palindrome), who may enlist the magic cure: the final final really really personal identification code of 32 symbols….. I wonder how many go stark raving mad from the sheer helplessness of this sinister techno-cliff.
By the way, it occurs to me that it’s so improbable that all of these lengthy codes were entered in correctly that perhaps the installation tormentors don’t even care what you type in, the system always takes you to the next stage of installation aggravation, which would itself suffice to ward off whatever they are warding off. Think so?
I am installed, but mauled, and I know that Aris Spanos is rather galled for my involving him as advisor to the replacement computer purchase, sorry Aris.
Query: Any idea for how a Mac Air 2 can have its brain sent to another Mac or monitor? (the obvious routes, plugs, and wires do not actually link up with the Air). Please send ideas…though, for now, I’ve moved on to a brand new machine (something more robust than the svelte Air this time), as I’m leaving….
Evil’s code docs live