I didn’t expect to imitate Carrie this much ...
But yesterday, while on the Internet, while doing my normal thing, I heard a sudden, ominous click from iBaby 2.0. Uh-oh. Programs stopped responding. And when I restarted in hopes this bad dream would prove just my paranoia about computer failure ... nothing. No icon, no smiley face, no un-smiley face, just ominous sounds of my disk-drive spinning, the hard drive trying to mount ... then nothing.
Prayer, no good. Frantic texts to Poster Boy, little hope: a problem best suited for the Apple Store. Gulp. Ad Co.’s former Apple Tech said much the same. So I packed up my baby, swallowed down tears, and readied to spend precious subway fare on a desperate trip to the Genius Bar (at $2/trip, I try to ration errands into Manhattan; on good weeks I spend not much more than $10-$12). I halfway debated what shirt would ensure the best hearing for my plight, but decided that that would be too much.
Once inside Soho’s Fruitville, I found the place totally swamped and more confirmation that sinking-feeling-in-stomach was probably justified. “Try booting it from the software disk and come back tomorrow morning,” he said. But then he confessed that it probably was a “major” problem that minor fix wouldn’t solve.
Sure enough, booting from CD: no good. Tests this morning confirmed that the hard drive is toast, without butter or jam. For which I consoled myself with a bunch of lilacs from the flower stand next to Tekserve. It was that or burst into tears, really, and I hate the way crying leaves salt splatters on my glasses. At least I backed up the book this weekend! No way I could cover the $500 recovery fee to retrieve it (which is only if they are successful; no guarantees of that). Apparently when you style yourself Carrie’s analog, you get a share of her writer’s woes as well. Sigh.
Feel free to use the donation button below, if you’re so moved. Looks like I’ll have to invest in a better back-up system.
Prayer, no good. Frantic texts to Poster Boy, little hope: a problem best suited for the Apple Store. Gulp. Ad Co.’s former Apple Tech said much the same. So I packed up my baby, swallowed down tears, and readied to spend precious subway fare on a desperate trip to the Genius Bar (at $2/trip, I try to ration errands into Manhattan; on good weeks I spend not much more than $10-$12). I halfway debated what shirt would ensure the best hearing for my plight, but decided that that would be too much.
Once inside Soho’s Fruitville, I found the place totally swamped and more confirmation that sinking-feeling-in-stomach was probably justified. “Try booting it from the software disk and come back tomorrow morning,” he said. But then he confessed that it probably was a “major” problem that minor fix wouldn’t solve.
Sure enough, booting from CD: no good. Tests this morning confirmed that the hard drive is toast, without butter or jam. For which I consoled myself with a bunch of lilacs from the flower stand next to Tekserve. It was that or burst into tears, really, and I hate the way crying leaves salt splatters on my glasses. At least I backed up the book this weekend! No way I could cover the $500 recovery fee to retrieve it (which is only if they are successful; no guarantees of that). Apparently when you style yourself Carrie’s analog, you get a share of her writer’s woes as well. Sigh.
Feel free to use the donation button below, if you’re so moved. Looks like I’ll have to invest in a better back-up system.
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