Tommy Collison

My affair with MacBooks has been quite sordid, I must say. From spilling water over white Macbook #1 to starting using MacBook #2 for all my secondary school classes, bar maths and music.

After deciding to use a computer for classes in April 2009, I began to think of ways of making my life easier. It weighs 2.27 KGs, which isn’t exactly a featherweight, and is definitely heavier than the 3 A4 copies that it replaces. Now, I’m not saying that those copies weigh more than the 1.3 KGs like the Air, but it’s nicer.

Plus, the laptop is hyper organized. My first instinct was to add ‘so I don’t have to be’ to that sentence but that sounds a wee bit irresponsible, so we’ll go with: ‘which makes it easier for me to be similar’ ;)

As you can see from the picture, there’s also the backups of my schoolwork. Ideally these should be on a different computer, but for now I make do by just compressing the ‘school work’ file each evening, and sticking the .zip in a different folder. What I’ll probably end up doing whenever Patrick gets home -Christmas at the latest, but we hope well before then- is lock him in the office with no wifi access until he gets our Time Machine up and running, and then I can wirelessly back up from there.

Wow, that’s an evil torture. Forget a career in writing, I should be on Gitmo’s payroll.

In other news, I wandered into my local drum shop today with Dad, sadly though, indulging my drumming addiction wasn’t what we were there for. Our TV is become a big child, being heard but not seen. Well, an anti-child, if you will. There’s something wrong in that we’re getting sound, but no picture. A big, flatscreen, 20″ radio, in short.

That’s another torture actually – making me wander among all the cymbals and cowbells and stands not being able to buy anything. I decided not to ask if they’d anything new and/or wonderful in, because a green complexion really doesn’t suit me. I had to make do asking about how business was -a stock business question. Eww.

So, our 20″ inch radio is in TV hospital, under strict instructions not to go into the light. We’ve nothing to watch the match with. Not that that last fact bothers me, but one must empathize with Dad, who does care about hurling.. or is it GAA?

Quod erat demonstrandum