Memory Card Redux. On Wednesday, after the presentation, a friend takes me to Future Shop and I buy a new memory card. It's very strange, because when I go to pop it in, I learn it has been used. And not just pre-shipping stuff a company may include. I mean, it is very obviously pre-owned. It contained virtually every facet of its previous owner's life: personal photos, a resume, and payroll information for his business. Some very confidental stuff. I contact Future Shop to complain, and send the former owner an email. But before either get back to me, the point becomes largely moot, because on my way home on Thursday, I lost the card. In exactly the same circumstances that I lost the first. I'm assuming my pockets have a hole in them that sews itself up when I'm looking at it.
So: today I got yet another memory card. And to make sure this one stays safe, I've attached it to my key chain. And nothing could possibly go wrong there, right? (I'd add another link to the post where I speculate that I do this sort of thing deliberately, but... it's depressing enough, frankly, and it'll be worse by the time we're through here.)
After that week, you can imagine that I wanted to let off some steam. So I went out with some friends on Saturday night, to celebrate one friend's recent B-Day. (Happy Birthday, said friend! May your twenty-fifth year be less prone to object-oriented mishaps than mine.)
It was a night of discourse, drinking,and dancing. While my opinion on dancing is somewhere very close to Stephen Fry's--because at heart I am a man in his late fifties--I wouldn't have traded the other components for the return of my memory sticks. (Well, maybe not the first memory stick. That was not a happy couple of days. But the second one, anyway.) Usually, social gatherings like that make me go into "bolt" mode an hour or two in, but this stime, I stayed out to the bitter end, and I'm glad I did. Gang, to mix metaphors, you're all top drawer in my book.
I wish I could end on that happy note, but the autobiographical pact created by Philip Lejuene that we studied in the blogging class that instigated this blog compels me to be honest. My internet was giving me trouble today, but I needed to turn in a school assignment, so I had to get it to the university, one way or another. So, I trudged through the snow, picked up the latest memory card, and trudged back home to transfer the appropriate files. Now, on the first trip out that day, I had worn my glasses because I was trying to be conservative with my remaining contact lenses. But the snow was coming down at such a rate that I decided to wear my mask toque for the longer walk to the university. And if you're wearing a mask toque, you're not wearing glasses, because they don't fit well underneath it, your ears aren't there to allow you to wear them over it, and they'll fog up anyway from the temperature difference between your breath and the outside air. So I put the glasses into a case, tossed them in my bag, and walked to school.
Once I got to school, though, I was in for a surprise: the glasses weren't there, and I had forgotten them at home. (Or, alternatively, they're there, but I can't see them. Yes, I am THAT nearsighted.) So for the past hours, I have been sitting at a computer, with a monitor inches from my face. Because that is how dedicated I am to this blog.
Alternative ending for the previous sentence: ..how dedicated I am to preserving chances to complain.
Take your pick between them. One is probably more accurate.