Posted on | January 22, 2012 | No Comments
So far as I have heard, the grave is, in its way, almost as busy as the womb. Not that either is something to dwell upon. To look back is to waste as much time, to be as morbid as dwelling upon that ultimate stillness and all that will move within it.
Death, however, has been on the mind of late. This coincided with that of Steve Jobs.
He is revered in some quarters as a miracle worker, a figure for our times – and wore polo-neck tops to boot. Aye, boot, there’s the rub. Is there anybody whose heart has not paused ominously as the ears open wider in hopes of hearing that opening chime restored, that the screen in front of them will actually give the eyes something to do, the hand finding it worth pushing the mouse to and fro?
Calls to helplines, calls to friends, a lashing out on Dummies volumes: all this and more is the downside of the visionary.
And so it was with the aim of bringing everything onto one computer. As I say, there never seemed any need to bother about what lurks upon a previous machine, the thing is to get on with the next work, and cover the cost of such hardware outlay; in any case, with systems changing at every blink, it has always been the devil’s own work to try to shift everything onto the next “platform”. This time, however, for some reason, there was a moment’s pause to reflect that lurking in many an old folder were items worth another look.
The three hard drives, however, proved to have jammed. It was as if, removed, they were the soul which had departed the hulks, the plastic frames their earthly carcass in the hallway. The latest of these drives – I learned – could be jogged back into action, but the previous two will be a specialised task. This leaves one asking whether those products which, somehow or other, emerged from the cranium are worth the collective price now put upon them as a technological challenge.
Which makes for something to think about, to write about – and so it goes on, while the worm eats the apple that was Mr Jobs.