When I started with Autodesk, I received the standard issue desktop computer, which means my old computer was handed down to Mr. Probert. This is an interesting role reversal, for while my desktop had been the first that was ever built especially for me, it now became the first hand me down that he had to live with. This has brought more grunts, sighs and eyerolling in our shared home office than I care to dwell on. He now is forced to game with the video card that nearly caused our demise, and also must deal with the trademarked Dana Sprawl that applies to laundry, sports equipment and desktop apps.
My startup time has never been an issue because I usually hit the button then chase after two small children for about an hour, returning to my desk chair with a lukewarm cup of coffee and oatmeal in my hair to find everything in order- all of my jings and snagits and gotos, skypes, digsbies, yammers and communicators, itunes, audibles,pandoras and otherwise are all happily humming along waiting for the work day to begin.
Mr. Probert inherited this cacophony on the old desktop and promptly swapped master hard drives and created a new profile which left me standing gape-mouthed with USB cord in hand wondering how I was supposed to know what happened on the season finale of Dietribe if I couldn't sync my iPod. He shrugs and says that is what I get for choosing an Apple product. AS IF that is the issue here.
I had been procrastinating on migrating my library, but faced with about 30 hours or so of car, train and plane travel over the next week, I decided that a few hours of setup would be far better than reading the SkyMall instead of watching Bend it Like Beckham.
I reached for my old M65 and began installing and copying and I thought fondly about how this is exactly how I pictured our last days together. And I realized I never told you the story of how the M65 came back to life after certain demise due to a foggy headed moment with a very tall cup of coffee.
The actual mechanics of how M65 came back to existence are not terribly spectacular. A new keyboard came from Hong Kong via USPS (signature required) and was easily installed. It was the signature required part that make it all very entertaining.
It was about a year ago, perhaps a bit more. Prospector had been home with me helping with the book writing project for about 8 months at this point. I had him on the waiting list for the really good infant program known to be a feeder for CERN, but the performing arts nursery had been calling and asking for an audition, so I had not yet made up my mind about which situation would suit him best, so for the moment I was juggling him between writing, webcasting and the occasional few hours of sleep.
I had worked out a good system where he would play happily in his playpen while music or Baby Mozart or similar entertainment played on TV. The room with the playpen was just out of sight of my office, but I could duck my head around and check on him without him seeing me and getting upset. This worked for about 30-40 minutes at a shot once a day, and the rest of the day we would play together and I'd just work while he napped.
So I was interviewing for a new job (at Autodesk), and I had used this system to get me through about 5 interviews with raging success. So I had another interview, this time with someone I knew a bit and he was quite intimidating (thinking back on this, I giggle a tad.) I had make sure everything was in order, Prospector was happily shaking jingle blocks and chattering along. It was perfect.
About twenty minutes into the interview (which was going quite well), the doorbell rings. My dogs, two 80lb or so lumbering fools of labrador, turn on their kujo routine and lunge themselves repeatedly at the door while growling, barking, snarling and drooling. I can hear all of this, but I keep telling myself- its the mail lady, she will leave the package and go away. Just keep talking as if nothing is happening.
Then, Prospector understandably starts wailing and shrieking and standing up in the pen shaking the sides. I take a breath and say to myself- she will stop ringing and go away in one second.
Finally two things dawn on me. 1) She isn't going to stop ringing 2) She can see through the window into my living room where she sees two flesh eating, and probably baby eating, dogs alone with a screaming child. This is not a good thing.
So I make some polite pause in the interview and rush outside. If any of you have ever attempted the futility of working from home when children are present, you probably have come to the conclusion that getting dressed is really just a big waste of time. I mean, I could spent his nap time hammering out a chapter, or I could spend it brushing my teeth, combing my hair and finding something to wear other than my father's pajamas. Exactly.
So I rush outside with a headset still on, but looking (at noon) as if her doorbell ringings had distrubed me sleeping off a three day bender. I politely explain that I was on a conference call (yeah right) and thank you very much. I sign for the package and resolve to make a point of being outside for tomorrow's mail delivery wearing a suit. And pearls. Holding a copy of my book.
Returning inside, the child is once again happily playing, the dogs are passed out in a big drooling, smelly heap, and I finish my interview (it would appear successfully), and I take a moment to open the package and realize that this is the organ transplant that just might save my beloved M65 so that we can spend our days together watching movies on airplanes.