Backups are Good

On Wednesday afternoon a couple of weeks ago I was looking up shoes on the internet and watching TV... (like usual) when my computer screen froze. Not the pinwheel, but FROZE. I tried to restart it, but up came a flashing folder with a question mark. This is the third major harddrive-related problem I have had with this Mac. The first was a violent ticking noise after an evening of heady video editing, the second was an anomaly which required a reboot disc, the third: this. Disaster. Town. I read a heap of apple blogs to try and calm down; all of which alluded to 'new hard drive'.

The good part of this story is time machine. About an hour before this disaster, there was a complete backup. This was the only thing keeping me from dressing in black sackcloth and sobbing hysterically in the corner for a few weeks. At the Apple store, my hard drive crashed the Geniuss diagnostic tool. After the Apple store replaced the hard drive (no questions asked), the time machine backup restored every every everything, including email, things I left on the desktop, internet search history everything. Backup people, BACKUP.

But back to Wednesday 30th. I had to wait for Scott to get home to come up with a rational plan. I mean my plans involved a spiritual intervention and a search party to find the Riddler and work out what he wanted with my humble computer. So I documented the (recently) completely pathetic action of turning on the computer.  I hold the camera, open the Mac up. The blank screen reflects my hand and torso. I press the button and the optimistic tone of a Mac starting up rings out. Then nothing happens. Very subtly, the blue screen fades into white. Seconds/hours/years later a small folder flashes up at the centre of the screen. It bears a question mark.

I thought it might do some good to document this, thought it's more of a wallowing act; savouring the horror of a technological rejection; a moment of being cast into oblivion. A moment of pure nonsense/senselessness ? That is, if a computer is a kind of a sensory experience? Sometimes I whimsically entertain the notion of throwing everything I've ever made away. All at once. All in a skip. All gone. I imagine that afterwards I would feel guilty but mostly wickedly free. I would be able to start again with no name, no reference and no restraint. None of that old stuff would crowd me or exist as a comparison. I didn't feel like that at all when my computer went weird. I felt sick and powerless and disconnected and small. I had no idea how this electronic space has been acting as a de facto safehaven while I have no studio.  Being separated from this was no fun. I missed the tools to make things, I missed the records of all the other times I made things. Pursuing the freedom of no reference and no name is not something I can sincerely follow through with. Thank you time machine backup thank you.