And, It Was My Birthday Present
Computer problems put me in a place unlike any other. I whine. I can't concentrate on anything else. The angst permeates every piece of every day. I'm not exaggerating. The Cuters know to steer clear, but that only makes it worse. I ought to be the grown-up. I ought to be able to fix it. It's not my fault that this new Dell won't recognize my Nikon or my Ipod or my GPS. How could it possibly be my fault? The machine was delivered. I unpacked it. I plugged in the cables and connectors correctly. It turned on (which was somewhat of a miracle since the unit it was replacing never did turn on -- even after I spent 2 hours dissassembling the green boards in the back of it with the tech guy urging me on from somewhere in southern Asia). I uploaded the necessary software - the newest iterations, which came directly from the products' websites. When the first USB port didn't work, I tried another. And another. I plugged the keyboard into the offending por...