I was reminded this weekend of Junior High. I was selected as part of an elite group of students who were invited to try out this new thing called a personal computer. We were whisked off to a neighboring High School’s cafeteria, where we were introduced to a Hewlitt Packard the size of a mini-van.

Under the careful supervision of the Florida voting commission, we punched chads out of a stack of cards large enough to denude several acres of rain forest. The object was to create a loop program that would continually add two to the previous number in a sequence until such time as they either pulled the plug, or came out with the Commodore PC. This program was not designed for any useful purpose other than training for future Florida elections.

This weekend, while the good people of Adobe tech support were enjoying three days of unbridled debauchery (playing Dungeons and Dragons in their mom’s basement), I was struggling to install the latest and greatest version of Adobe Acrobat. Unfortunately, it didn’t want to talk to the earliest and barely adequate version of Word.

The saga continues.

With computers, the more I learn, the less I know. There’s always at least one mystery cable under my desk. Sometimes it’s not even hooked up to anything, but I’m afraid that if I move it, my computer will spontaneously combust.

As a writer, I jealously guard my laptop from damage, theft, or space invaders (Atari – too long ago to remember). I don’t feel any need to understand how it works. As long as the little blue light comes on when I push the button, I can sleep well at night (or at my desk, as the case may be.)

News flash: since starting to write this, my authorization code for a lower version of Acrobat came through! I can finally leave my computer to take a shower, change my underwear, and go to the bathroom. Film at 11:00.