The final battle

It’s personal, now. Mano a machino. I against the collective acumen of hundreds of thousands of software/hardware engineers and technicians who have conspired to befuddle and exasperate anyone who enters their geeky realm. Damn the torpedoes. At the last juncture, the prudent strategy appeared to be to set up a home network. As noted, I have had previous difficulties with this. So, I set about it with tongue-jutting determination. The new computer complied, constructed a network and yielded a password to me. I dutifully printed it out, eliminating the possibility of error down the road. On the old computer, I wiped everything in networks clean. It’s the site of previous network skirmishes and who knows what wreckage remains. I began afresh and it displayed a password, which was duly recorded. Not taking a chance on whatever may lurk in the air, I connected the two with an ether cable via router. I held my breath as I called up the network configuration on the new computer. Yes! The old computer showed up. But, these things seldom end well so I delay the popping of corks. I click on the old computer icon and it requests a user name and password. User name and password for which computer or is it name for this operator but password to enter the other computer? I take my best guess and, of course, it denies access. Not a big problem since there are but three combinations left. Naturally, they all fail. I repeat the progression and still no joy. I am now faced with hours of playing around with this or possibly years. But wait, could there be a simple solution? I get on the old computer and find the menu I need. Hallelujah. There is an option to turn off password security, which I do. Back to the new box. Without a password sentry, I’m in the door on the old box. But, it is only showing files prefaced with “public.” I’d saved nothing to public. I have to copy the desired files to that. Okay, I can do this. I start with the photos, which number in the tens of thousands. That’s almost a decade of my considerable traveling. I copy and paste to the public file, holding my breath again. Yes! The little progress gauge pops up. But wait. It’s estimating a time span that will take us well into the evening. The hard drive is already circling the drain. I doubt if it will last through this and the subsequent copying to the new computer. I hit cancel. The heck with doing it the technically slick way. I wipe my external hard drive clean and download to it. If the old computer drive croaks after that, no problem. Actually, I have two external drives, one big and one small. So, I can alternate and simultaneously be downloading from the old and uploading to the new. I decide to triage, just in case the old girl crashes. Music will be the last out since most of that is captured on my iPod. Of course, that assumes when I sync it with the new computer, that computer mirrors it instead of the other way around, winding up with zilch. Big assumption. That leaves documents, pictures and video. Documents is the smallest file and probably has the most critical data, since it emanates from my brain. Or not. Regardless, it’s the first into the lifeboat. That downloads quickly into the small drive and I hook it up to the new box for uploading. The large drive gets plugged into the old computer to suck up the photos. The download box predicts a duration of hours. I check on the progress of the documents and it’s done. Before I start wiping these external drives, I make sure I can open the documents and that they haven’t arrived in some bizarre, inscrutable format. We’re golden. So, I check on the progress of the photos. It’s limping along. The old computer is flashing various warning messages, but none I haven’t seen since the drive commenced its death spiral. A watched pot never boils so I repair to the den to watch the tube and do crossword puzzles. I’m too antsy just to view television shows. The mind has to be working. At every commercial, I’m checking on the download. It’s coming along. I may pull this off. When I think the next commercial will be the end of it, the phone rings. I can tell by the number what it’s about. A friend’s father has died and I know that this concerns the funeral arrangements. I can’t blow this off. “Sorry, but I’m downloading photos. Call me back around ten with details on how you’re going to plant the poor guy.” The call ends and I go to my office. Uh-oh. The old computer is dead. Not in a sleep or power saver mode, cold dead. I power it back up, vaulting over the notices of abnormalities in the drive. When it’s done loading, I check the content of the external drive. It appears to have captured most of the data. Maybe it’s selective or possibly it can compress it somewhat. Do I attempt a second try or call it good enough? Since it appears to be exhaling its last gasp, I go with what I’ve got to try to salvage whatever video I can before it croaks. I issue the commands and am almost surprised when it begins to download. It’s an encore performance, but I’m satisfied. That is, I return to check on the progress and the screen is ebony. I resuscitate it and check the transferred data. Again, it appears most of it crossed the abyss. Or, maybe it’s some difference of measurement or whatever. At any rate, that will be the last I ask of this valiant warrior. I move the external drive over to the new computer and commence the transfer of videos. Now, it’s time for the final act. Almost like having a pet put to sleep. I haven’t decided where to donate the earthly remains, or as-is or with a new drive, or maybe just provide the organs so that a younger device may live on. But I cannot leave the data intact. I gently pat the old girl on her brow (above the CD/DVD drive) and then insert the wipe disk. She’s gone now but the memories linger on. Late nights editing video or pounding out this scree. Together, we brought happiness to others (or maybe something else). But, somewhere, in another dimension, she lives on, merrily losing data, denying access and spewing terse error messages. Farewell, my friend.