The Eighth Page

FC Pride, Baby

As with most of the Phillips Academy population, the Internet on my computer does not work. Allow me to share my story. It is approximately 9:32.47 on a Monday night, and I am watching intensely as the drama unfolds in Destinos. Of course, by watching I mean reading summaries I found on the Internet. After finishing I decide to engage in my favorite of pastimes, checking my e-mail, because I hear there is a spellbinding crosswalk safety e-mail. So I click the “home” icon to get myself back to PAnet, but immediately and, unfortunately, not to much surprise, I see that a message has popped up. It reads: “Self Destruct: 5…4…3…2…” With my quick wits and catlike reflexes I coolly throw open the window and toss the computer out. Two yards from the house it explodes, and fragments of the laptop go flying. I hit the floor and cover my head just in time as the Pentium 4 and D drive come hurtling back in my direction. I stick my head out the window to find the annihilated remains of my Dell strewn about the grass and into the woods. At first stricken with grief, I realize this is not such a bad thing. Despite the dire environmental hazards of the broken components, I take a few minutes before going to pick up the pieces to rejoice in the fact that I no longer have to deal with my computer. No that’s a lie; I was just trying to impress you. Unfortunately, so the computer tells me, “ could not be found. Please check the name and try again.” PAnet could not be found. So its not that the computer couldn’t find, PAnet, it’s that PAnet is lost or doesn’t exist. “Please check the name and try again.” Why please? As if the word please is going to get me to “check the name and try again” when I wasn’t going to without the courtesy. That’s an empty please anyway. The computer knows that it is the powerful one here, because he has what I need. And when he breaks, he blames me, and tells me to please do this and this and this. It’s like 1984 without the bushy mustache. (I’m going to assume you’re well read and understand that reference.) As you can see, this simple error statement has exposed the reality that we are, in fact, dependant Bantha fodders that live and die by computers and use Star Wars to supplement our meager vocabularies. Now remember that I had been using the Internet before I got that dreaded error message. I had been using it for a week, in fact. Spontaneously, without any warning, it breaks. My outrage at this turn of events was considerable, and in my opinion, warranted. I trashed my room, shredded almost everything, including my roommate’s prized stamp collection and our priceless authentic replica of the Declaration of Independence. The only thing that would stand as much punishment as I was able to dish out (you know that’s a lot if you’ve seen these guns) was the mattress. To this day I still have no idea what is inside those things. Then anger turned to sadness. Forlorn, I skipped three days of class in a cocoon of bedding and PA Athletic Department apparel, leaving only for fourth meal PB&J. When my grief had subsided enough to restrict myself to the entire dorm, I used another kid’s computer to file a report with Techmasters (because, of course, my roomate’s virus infested computer doesn’t have network access either), but I still have not heard from them. Frankly, I would appreciate it if they would take a moment from “Custom Inking” their track jackets (as clever as the way they substitute the letter “A” with “4” is) to fix my computer. This is just one of many sad stories of the Internet plague that our school has had to endure. Please remember that if this happens to you it is not your fault, and that you don’t need to live like this. Seek help against the oppressive regime of technology and banthas [Editor’s Note:Yeah, I don’t really get it either, but Star Wars junkies need freedom the press too.]