Tag Archives: love

Eulogy for My Vaio

Vaio was a good laptop. Unpretentious, quick-thinking, always had a get-the-job-done attitude. Back in ‘08 when I first got her she was so patient with me, sitting quietly as I scrolled through her settings and fumbled with her camera configurations. She guided me gently though her setup and made our transition an easy one, with her calm and slightly teasing, “Are you sure you want to delete this program?” She knew I was naive and insecure, so she backed me up, just in case.
Our early years were so productive together. She helped me write my Master’s thesis on Edgar Allan Poe and the scandalous business that was antebellum publishing, even though she didn’t know what antebellum meant. I added it to her dictionary, as I did with so many words, mostly ones I had made up. Vaio was a picky speller, which could be annoying sometimes, with her passive aggressive red underlines. I just clicked and we moved on. We never talked about it, but now I kind of wish we had.
She was pretty too, in those days: her slim, sleek profile always made me proud to have her on my table at the corner cafe or at the library. But as the years wore on, I have to admit, I started to notice thinner models, with their cute little apples and teeny depths you couldn’t even use the word thickness to describe them… but my Vaio, well, she was starting to look a little thick. I know it’s horrible to say, but it’s true. And if one thing Vaio and I always shared, it was honesty. She respected that.

you will not be forgotten

She knew everything about me, holding all of my secrets and compromising photos tucked away in discreet folders, within folders, deep inside her C drive. That time in Mexico City? Ella sabe. The bachelorette party in Vegas, the one where none of us were actually getting married? She never judged. She just popped open her window, asked me firmly, but politely, if I wanted to save the images. She already knew the answer, but wanted to hear me say it. We had an understanding, and I owed her that much.

She traveled with me everywhere: India, Hong Kong, Europe. Quick to adapt, Vaio always found a safe Wifi and could translate in any language without much fuss. She never complained when I accidentally left her at the ski lodge in Innsbruck, or hid her in the closet in Dubai. Sure, she bitched when I installed a German hotspot program in her, then couldn’t get it out when we returned to the States… (but really, who wouldn’t?). She sighed and just learned to live with it. If there’s one thing I can say about her, Vaio always sucked it up. She was tough.

But this year, things really changed. Our communication slowed way down, sometimes to the point where she’d just shut down. I knew she was fighting a virus, but what did that have to do with us? Mac Air was so  thin and fast, I… well, I couldn’t resist. Air and I had been having an emotional affair for weeks, and I sensed Vaio knew, but again–we never discussed it. Then, when the box came, she just started at me, monitor agape, for what felt like an eternity. Then before I could say anything, she just went black. That was it.

she knows I love Chai. all day with the flirting...

I’ll miss you Vaio. Sure, Air is sexy, and fun to have around, but she’s no you. Know that you meant so much to me and I’ll make sure your death was not in vain. You’ll be recycled into your next life, go to a better place, and you can start over again, as I am doing right now.

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Toilets, Love, and the Traveling Writer

It’s the journey of a lifetime: a six week sabbatical spanning Indonesia. After the tactful suggestion by my partner to bring only as much as I can carry on my back, it hits me: this trip is not the order-room service-and-sit-by-the-pool kind of trip. No, this is more of the muddy shoe-mosquito net-you-think-I-have-malaria kind of trip. No gauzy white curtains blowing through our palm-fanned bungalow. No swim up bar with white canvas beach beds. No blow dryers, no flat irons. No heels.

A new experience no doubt. Sure, I’ve roughed it before. Back in 2004 I took a surf trip to Costa Rica where friends and I stayed at the trendy eco-friendly (read: gringo) hotel, complete with cement rooms and giant hairy spiders as our silent wake up callers. But we had hot water and outlets, and now, I can’t help but wonder if this exotic excursion is going to push my city girl sensibilities to their breaking point. I can live without heels, and even makeup (I think?), but not showers. And toilets. There are toilets in the Javanese jungle, right? I have to draw a line somewhere.

We’re both global travelers, but my partner, Martin*, is what we call a Rugged Traveler. Before we met, he traveled the globe for eight months, mostly by motorcycle, holing up in dingy hostels and subsisting on local street food. He hiked mountains in India and built ferocious, roaring campfires using nothing but wet toothpicks and a broken shoelace. (Okay I made that last part up but you get my point.) Now, I’m not saying that’s not how I roll; I’ve just never rolled that way before.

I’m trying to frame the enterprise as a way to conquer a few fears: fears of uncertainty, intimacy, and caffeine withdrawal (as there will be no Phil’z coffee I am quite certain.) Because this trip will be a test in several ways. Can I travel—and enjoy, I mean truly enjoy—vacationing without my basic creature comforts? And what about us? Six weeks is a long span for a couple who are accustomed to two very different modes of vacationing. Will we bicker, spending so much time together, alone, in a culture we’re both wholly unfamiliar with, or will the experience bring us closer together? Will he object when we get to Bali and I suggest (read: insist on) a much-deserved spa day at the zen retreat I’ve already researched, mapped, and selected massage treatments at? I mean, after weeks of muddy sneakers and street side noodle bowls, a girl should be able to have one measly salt scrub at a hotel, right? With gauzy white curtains in a palm-fanned bungalow. And those curtains had better be blowing.

* Not his real name… he insisted I use Martin. I think I embarrass him…

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