I know I pledged to avoid New Year’s resolutions, just a few posts back, but I briefly considered working out recently, much to my dismay. See, the thing is my other long-standing pledge–to regard desserts ecumenically, whether they be black or white, baked or frozen–has been operating in direct contravention to my health, and the holidays appear to have altered the cut of my pants. That said, I’ve yet to purchase a gym membership, and I don’t think 2013 is the right year to start. For now, I’ll see how far metabolism and a return to my normal diet will take me.
But freedom, rather than sweet treats, is the topic for tonight, and I’m loathe to go abstract in the last post of the year. It’s just that I’ve been constantly reminded of the idea lately. Can there be too much freedom? That’s the key question. There are the big things, like the current debate on gun control. There are the small things, too, like being stuck behind a Jeep with a whistle tip in the parking garage. I was waiting in a checkout line today and found myself scanning the insipid varieties of earbuds on offer, with one style–“Seersucker Picadilly,” whatever that could possibly mean–particularly annoying me.
While these may seem like unrelated occurrences, I believe there’s a common thread: We the people have an overwhelming hunger to express our individuality. My personal tenet at the moment goes something like this: You have a right to fully exercise your freedoms, provided I have reasonable options to avoid them. You’re free to place that goddamn “COEXIST” bumper sticker on your car, just as I’m free to not look at it. I can choose to refrain from buying Seersucker Picadilly earbuds. I can switch lanes if the car behind me is dropping phat beats.
Boring examples, to be sure, and it’s when you’re a captive audience that the conversation gets interesting–and when you fight. Say you’re stuck behind a whistle tipper on a single-lane highway. Does his right to install a whistle tip trump your right to undistracted driving? Or say you’re stuck next to a noisy neighbor. Does his right to listen to phat beats with pounding bass trump your freedom from phat beats with pounding bass? Does the right to own assault weapons trump the right to not be shot by them? I’ve got to believe there’s a middle ground here, and I know this has been debated before. Sure wish I didn’t exercise my freedom to cut all those philosophy classes.
Secondhand Rants will return on Thursday, December 27.
If graphical infidelity is an accepted phrase, then we’re in good shape tonight. And if it isn’t? A submittal to UrbanDictionary may be in order. That’s because I’m typing this post on–wait for it–a sickly teal desktop at 640×480 resolution in dazzling 4-bit color. What’s more, my application of choice is Microsoft Notepad. I’ll explain how I arrived at this sorry state of affairs in a moment, but do excuse any typos tonight–and treasure the rich palette on whatever device you’re using now, be it 64-bit or 32-bit or, shit, even 16-bit.
I finally began my quest to clean this weekend, the first order of which calls for donating a hot ton of antiquated computer parts to Goodwill. The plan was to rebuild my desktop first, of course, using the “best” hardware culled from the carnival. The entire ordeal would take three hours, tops, followed by an easy trip to the neighborhood donation center. That’s what I told myself, at least.
It took the whole weekend, and I’m still working through issues. My living room looks like the aftermath of an unholy union between the A/V and art clubs. There are DVD drives and RAM chips blanketing the coffee table. A power supply sits by itself on the couch, flanked by a mess of ribbons and parts on the adjacent loveseat. Hollow computer cases dotting the floor. This is either the advent of delayed spring cleaning, or the avant-grade of furniture art may be gestating here. I haven’t decided yet.
Three builds later, I traced the source of my frustrations to an errant motherboard, and the final box I built was only marginally different from what I started out with. But assembling a configuration of parts that would actually respond to electrical current wasn’t enough. Now, after a fresh install of Windows XP, there appears to be some kind of driver conflict between the motherboard and my video card, the net result of which means I’m not allowed to have colors. Why so much drama? Partly because I’m rusty, I think. It’s been years since I tried my hand at this stuff. Mainly, though, I don’t think I have the stomach to do this anymore, in my old age. There’s still a sense of pride, to be sure, from putting together a bunch of parts and watching them magically work in concert. But sometimes you just want the milk, you know? You don’t want to buy a plot of land, raise a barn, put a cow in it, learn the craft, and then teach the cow to go the store and buy a carton of milk for you.