My laptop, left in my possession by the incorrigible Mr. Schlessinger, has finally bit the big one. The charging jack, which has been on the blink all semester, has been gently refusing to accept the increasingly more forceful advances of the charger, and is now completely rejects any electricity that it is offered. So, it has died. Perhaps I'll send it in to be repaired. But I find myself pondering whether or not paying $500 to fix a hulk of a laptop that's already in bad shape in other ways is worth it, when I could get a student developer kit from Apple and get a 12" PowerBook for a little over double that. I suppose it all depends on the summer cash flow. We shall see.
So instead of sitting in the comfort of my own room, with a comfy couch, and a generally homey atmosphere, I have to go to the cold, sterile enironments of the computer labs to get on the internet. The walls are all a generic beige, the rows of slate gray Macs hum quietly away, and the fluorescent lights, bathing the room in an unnatural white, give off an almost imperceptible 60 hertz hum. It's like a room in the Death Star.
Having been exposed, in some small way, to deconstructionism a few weeks ago, I found this to be particularly funny, especially coming from a programming background as I do. It's actually rather depressing that I can understand both positions. I have a tenuous grasp on the concepts for both of these disparate fields of study (computer science and literary criticism), but I have no truly deep understanding of either. I can put the terms together and make sense of them, but I can't come up with original thought. It's a sort of a jack-of-all-trades thing, but the master-of-none portion bugs me. I can impress people with the breadth of my knowledge, but anyone who really knows either field will be disappointed by the depth of it.
I only have two finals this semester, but one of them (Latin) is in two hours, so I'm going to get to studying.
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