Category: Nerdy

October 16, 2018 (Tuesday)

I’m sitting behind my computer.  I’m the manager of this place, so I need to have my eyes on this screen.  But I need to keep my eyes on other things too.

I have noticed that the computer seems to be an interesting contraption.  Of course, people know that computers are interesting, but I’m not simply referring to what they show us on their monitors.  I mean they are interesting because many of us hide behind them.  We don’t always use them as a kind of mask or shield, but we certainly do, when needed, use them this way.

What are we hiding from?  Why do we push these things around on our desks, positioning them just so, making it harder for people out there to see us?

Are computers turning people into introverts, making them shyer, less friendly?

While writing this, my mind returned to an earlier time in my life when I worked in a different place—I was doing writing assignments for a large, well-known American corporation—and had two computers sitting on my desk.  I could shuttle between them and would, from time to time, get this weird feeling that there was no reality beyond that which existed on those two screens.

In the job I currently have, the IT department switched out my old computer not long ago for something newer and faster.  When the technician was in my workspace making the change, he asked me if I wanted two monitors.  I told him I didn’t think so.  One was enough.  That made me wonder if the use of two monitors is becoming more the norm.  Probably so.  This makes it even easier for us to disappear.  With two of these things sitting in front of us, the wall is much bigger and certainly more concealing.  One of these days, I suppose, people will be requesting three monitors and then four and so on.  It will eventually be possible to completely wall ourselves off from a lot of the rest of the world.

I could have told him that I want two, but my natural tendency is to try to keep things simple, to streamline, to downsize.  As a matter of fact, I often find myself saying that less is more which is almost always true.  Less really is more, although I am afraid of making categorical statements.  A part of me is very much the ascetic, so this kind of thinking may be that part of my personality asserting itself.

I sometimes think I should have become a monk of some sort.  A part of me is made that way.

A part of me would like to withdraw from everything—even food—and spend the day sitting cross-legged in some quiet place.  My body would probably wither, but my mind would certainly expand.

I think I’ve said everything I’d like to say right now.  So, until my next blog entry…

 

People Who Drive Station Wagons Are Nerds

subaru 2

I just now looked out my window at work and saw him walking on the sidewalk.  The timing was perfect.  As luck would have it, I began writing something about him—he was front and center in my mind—and then, while I was trying figure out what I wanted to say, here he came, walking on the sidewalk right on the other side of this pane of glass.

I’ll have to keep using male pronouns when I refer to him because I don’t know his name.  I do know a few things about him, though.  I’ve bulleted these factoids:

  • He’s in in 60s
  • He wears a necktie and sweater vest every single day even when it’s very hot
  • He is retired and now does part-time work in one of these offices around here in one of these buildings
  • He drives a 2006 Subaru Forester station wagon

On point number four, I’d like to mention that I also drive an older model Subaru station wagon.  Mine is a 2002 Legacy.  That’s the difference.  Here’s the similarity:  Both are silver in color.

I got to know him because we work together at Palo Alto College, a little school that does yeoman’s work in an economically depressed area of south San Antonio.  We also arrive at work a little earlier than is required on most mornings.  (I’ll leave it to you to determine what this says about us.)  Anyway, because we are such eager beavers, our cars are often the first two to arrive and are thus the only ones around.  Despite having a million choices about where we might situate our rides, we both enjoy parking right next to one another.  (I’m beginning to wonder if this practice isn’t turning out to be something akin an almighty Subaru show of force.)

He arrives slightly earlier than I do on some mornings.  When this happens, I find him sitting behind the wheel—perhaps he is waiting for me to arrive?—and smoking.   I don’t know what brand he prefers.  (He’s probably a Marlboro man if I had to hazard a guess.  He doesn’t wear a ten-gallon hat or chaps or anything like that, nor does he generally go unshaven for a day or so or have that rugged sunburned look, but I’m pretty sure he’s a Marlboro man nonetheless.)  I pull up next to him and look across the little space that separates us and wave.  He fills his lungs with smoke and nicotine and other chemically things and waves back.  This is how we greet each other almost every morning.

Once parked, I’ll gather my things together and open the door to get out.  Often—maybe it’s a coincidence or maybe it isn’t?—we’ll lock up at just about the same time.  This synchronized exiting of vehicles gives us the opportunity to actually exchange a few words.  Because we have old Subaru station wagons in common, we mostly talk about our cars.  “How’s the Subaru running?” he’ll ask.

“Pretty good.  About a month ago, the ‘check engine’ light came on.  Other than that, pretty good.  How about yours?”

“I’ve got a little engine clatter, I’m afraid,” he said earlier this week.

His mentioning of the engine gave us a chance to stand in the parking lot for five minutes and discuss the famed “boxer” motor that older Subarus are so well known for.

As soon as the engine talk was done, we walked silently, side by side, until he veered off to the left and I veered off to the right to enter Nueces Hall.

I still don’t know what his name is or where he works.  Note to self:  Find this out next week.