If this is your first visit, be sure to
check out the FAQ by clicking the
link above. You may have to register
before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages,
select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below.
My initial foray into PC tech/consulting (even before I had my degree) was setting up people's first PCs. Initially with batch files, then using Magee Enterprises' fabulous Automenu. Yikes!
Or reading about a 13-year-old kid who listened to a cassette tape on a Walkman and it took him two days to realize that he needed to flip the tape over to listen to the music on the other side.
I knew I was the absolute shit when I bought myself a Walkman with auto-reverse! That shit was the bomb!
My grandfather - no, *not* my great-grandfather - was born the same year that Queen Victoria died. He served in both World Wars. (I'm actually younger than that makes me seem.)
I believe it. My paternal grandfather, who I was named after, was born in 1897. My friend Frank is three years younger than me, and his paternal grandfather was born in 1869.
And yet I'm only 44 and Frank is only 41. Go figger.
(For those of you struggling with the math, my grandfather was 35 when my father was born, and my father was almost 38 when I was born. Frank's grandfather was 52 when Frank's father was born, and Frank's father was also 52 when Frank was born.)
Most people today would be incredulous that a mechanical calculating machine could exist and be useful. It was still easy to find shops that used mechanical cash registers when I was young, and there were abaci in the classroom.
A local business, the Key West Rum Distillery, not only has a mechanical cash register, it's one from about the 1920s, very ornate and funky, and it freakin' works. Cool ass shit!
"The Customer Is Always Right...But The Bartender Decides Who Is Still A Customer."
Split-flap (Solari) displays have been retired from most railway stations and airports worldwide. I actually rather liked those - the noise they made meant that you knew when something was happening, and they remained readable from a pretty good distance.
Mom knew that if I ever got restless/bored in a station, she could park me in front of the display board. I loved watching that thing.
I've noticed that the digital board in South Station has a specific viewing angle, where the old one could be read from just about anywhere in the building (also, if you weren't paying attention the noise let you know 'hey look at me because your train might be coming'). NWK still had one when I went through there in May, although it looked like they were going to take it down soon (there was a crew up there taking measurements). I was able to get a phone pic of the board...not as clear as I thought, but I got it.
"I am quite confident that I do exist."
"Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense. You're just not keeping up." The Doctor
In the midst of all this, the younger niece wanders into the living room, listens to the conversation for a moment, then asks the question "What's an eight-track?". .
I recently found my parents' old portable 8-track boombox (plays 8-tracks and nothing else). My brother and his kids were visiting, and he took the tape from me ("The Best of Aris San") and put it in his son's hand. My nephew says, "What's this?" Bro says "Now you can tell your kids, you actually held an 8-track in your hand!"
(I tried to show them how the thing worked, but only one speaker had any sound, and the channel-changer was stuck. One of these days I'd like to see if I can get it working, or get another.)
I bought some lps in a charity shop a while ago for craft things and had to explain what they were to my children. I realised that I remember 45s, 33s, tapes and even cds (which are going the way of the tape due to mp3s). Got a good kindle book on this a while ago actually, 21st century dodos, which has a really, really long list of things like it.
My family all know about LPs and older forms of Berliner recordings. They've seen and heard me playing them, so it's nothing unusual to them.
It kind of freaked me out a little while back when I figured out that the length of time between the end of WWII and my birth year is less than my current age.
In my case, it's exactly double.
And my beard is going grey around the edges. It was red once. Some people get salt and pepper: I'm getting salt and paprika.
I found out Friday that the novel Outlander, now a TV series debuting next week on Starz, came out more than 20 years ago.
Has it been that long already? I just finished reading Book 8 (Written In My Own Heart's Blood, or MOBY for short, don't ask me why), which came out a few weeks ago, and she's no closer to winding it up than she was at the end of the seventh book. Originally there were supposed to be only sixfive three. I only hope she doesn't go the way of fellow doorstop-generator Jean Auel (whose final Earth's Children book was 12 years late, reads like a bad fanfic, and leaves quite a few loose ends untidied).
Oh, and my 7-year-old son is fascinated by my manual typewriter.
I learned how to type on a manual. Not because I'm so old, but because when I was a child, my father upgraded to a spiffy new Smith-Corona electric typewriter, but couldn't bring himself to pitch the old reliable manual he'd had since before I remember. So he let the three of us play with it. And we did. And so it wasn't that surprising to me when, in junior high, we got typing classes, and I was faster than everyone else in the class. (Still am pretty damn fast, though my mother would wipe the keyboard with me, and she's pushing 80!)
Odd side effect of learning how to type on an often sticky old manual....I was often the loudest typist in any room or computer lab, no matter how slick and awesome the keyboards were. I just bang on the keys. Can't help myself. Especially pronounced when I am typing something I am angry or passionate about. Like, say, some of my rants. Though this loud typing is somewhat lost on the touchscreen of my iPad. As is some of my speed, sadly.
"The Customer Is Always Right...But The Bartender Decides Who Is Still A Customer."
I still own TWO typewriters!
and I remember when you could have any color text on your computer print-out... so long as it was ink ribbon black/blue.
Now, what I never in my life knew existed (until NCIS) was a mimeograph. My mother (born in 1955) remembers them, and while it made her feel old, at least I had the brains to ask, "Okay, he just made copies of that sketch. Is that a manual Xerox machine?"
Imagine their reaction to seeing Windows 3.1. Or trying to USE it (it worked very differently than the 9x and newer versions!).
That was the first windows OS I used.
Another computer we had ran on floppy discs.
The first computer game for the actual computer I had was Sid Meyers Civilization which was sooo slow to load, honestly, could fire it up & go off & make dinner while it was loading
I also had the original Pong console and an original Cabbage Patch Kid.
I think the best memory I had as a kid was being dragged out of bed at about 3.30am on 21st July to watch history in the making
Arp happens!
Just when I was getting used to yesterday, along came today.
Now, what I never in my life knew existed (until NCIS) was a mimeograph. My mother (born in 1955) remembers them, and while it made her feel old, at least I had the brains to ask, "Okay, he just made copies of that sketch. Is that a manual Xerox machine?"
In high school, I was given a special project one year by my algebra teacher, which would be counted as my final exam (she did give me the option of declining the project and simply taking the test the rest of her classes took). I had to compose the end of year test for her algebra classes. Once I had the problems all set up and the answers worked out and checked, I had to write the test on mimeograph paper so copies could be made of it. I sometimes wonder what sorts of offers I might have gotten from other students if any of them had known I was the one that composed the test. This would have been in the mid 80s.
You're only delaying the inevitable, you run at your own expense. The repo man gets paid to chase you. ~Argabarga
Comment