He’s got all the components spread out on the kitchen table, he’s got the manual on his lap, and he’s very touchy right now.
Yesterday he was trying to hook up his new receiver and I was reading him funny stuff from the Dope and he said, “Ivylass, please. Not. Right. Now.”
I retired to the bedroom where we’ve lost the TV remote and watched Jurassic Park.
I got bored of poking my head out to the living room, to see if I could watch TV out there yet, so I decided to run to the store. Ivylad declared he needed a break and decided to come with me.
Now he’s in the kitchen, muttering to himself, and I must be very very quiet.
Men are so cute when they’re building things. At least I don’t have to sit there with the manual this time. Ivyboy has taken over that responsibility. He sat on the couch yesterday telling his father why the Sound Wooo-fer wasn’t working. He’s now reviewing the computer printouts and cheered when his father said the motherboard was removable.
HEY, Ivylad! I’M PRETTY SURE THAT DOO-HICKEY CONNECTS TO THE WHATCHAMACALLIT!
What? You wanted discretion and not directions? Ooooops. And there I was, feeling so technical.
I’m just going to type away here for a bit, make myself a turkey and Swiss sandwich for breakfast, and see what’s on TV so I can continue knitting. He’s even got that anti-static strap on his wrist, and the kids are hovering over the guts of the computer.
I expect they’ll learn some new colorful metaphors before the day is out.
The last time my brother tried messing with the computer, he put a screwdriver through the motherboard. :smack: When I found out he was planning to upgrade it again, I sent round my fiance to do it. With the warning “do NOT let him ‘help’!”
That was yesterday. Thinking about it, I haven’t spoken to either of them since. I hope they didn’t make anything explode. …
The first computer I ever built gave me a pyrotechnic show when I turned the power on. I think the only person more terrified than me was my mum, who had just witnessed a couple of hundred pounds nearly being flushed down the toilet Luckily, I didn’t permanently damage any parts.
Building a computer is a test of wits. If you can build one without screaming, cursing, attempting to destroy one or more of the components, or passing out from blood loss, then you’re a better man than I.
Heh. Mine is all grouchy when he’s building things, and *not * cute. He acts exactly like my dad, which means every time he builds things I go over and remind myself: Freud was bunk, Freud was bunk, you didn’t get involved with your father all over again.
Kiminy rebuilt a computer yesterday. New motherboard, CPU and case, with everything else transplanted from an old, sick computer. She’s ok during the procedure, but we have learned not to kibbitz or get within five feet of the work area (which was the living room floor yesterday). And if you value your life, you will not move anything she’s put down.
Her father is a retired neurosurgeon, and there’s something oddly familiar seeing her hovering over a case on its side, hands deep inside.
We’re grouchy when we’re building things, but we love doing it anyway. Of course, it also provides the opportunity for a great male bonding experience.
Luckily, I didn’t permanently damage any parts.