The Sound and the Fury

I was copying some project files onto a floppy disc for submission (showing how much this country is still residing nonchalantly in its dream about the good old days), and under the strains of Overture to the Thieving Magpie(yes, again, for it is suitable music to do a plethora of other things to, not just cooking pasta, but also number-crunching) the disc drive purred like a contented cat in front of a warm fire, its 1950s technology patiently magnetising the millions of dipoles on a Mylar disk, like a farmer pacing up and down rows upon rows of hens meticulously picking out fresh eggs, covered in feathers and flecks of dung, enjoying it, appreciating the value of a hard day's work with the only reward of a hot vegetable stew and the pleasure of grinding his axe -- like all things past, quite charming indeed, like sepia-toned photographs.

While it was reminding me, through those delightful sounds of exertion, that it was labouring away like a frequently-whipped but still loyal-for-a-daily-bowl-of-gruel navvy, I thought back to the days when personal computers were more like pinball machines, as they started up in a most cheerful sort of way with the "duuh-duh-duh" of the floppy drive booting and the reassuring, almost soothing beeps heralding that everything was right with the world, and I would play Warcraft II with joyful abandon. In sadder times the frightful clucking of a corrupted hard drive would often be the death knell of one's computer and all the King's Quest saved games, like it were saying goodbye. Given the appalling technical construction of most sound cards, listening to the sounds one's computer made as it went about its business was the endless auditory amusement there was to be derived.

But now computers seem to be like good children -- seen but not heard, and only speaking when told to, though what melodious tunes they are capable of now. While we might have had days with those loud, boisterous machines, newer users of computers can only look upon our present days of sleek, silent and stylish computing as their own brand of nostalgia, which seems an awful waste when computing seemed a lot more real swapping floppies during games or daydreaming about your roomy 20 Megabyte hard disc or pressing the turbo button -- more earthy and connected with the difficulties of real life, unlike the inconceivably large drives and enormously quick processors that seem so effective but impersonal, always doing the job but also always seeming to snatch it out of your hands and sneering at your ineptitude.

The flashy days of computers are about as passé as say, the fear of nuclear war or heavy metal music, but there is the tendency to look upon them with a certain fondness. Some relics of this anachronistic time still lie around, like my old 486 PC, but many will not run again (because I cannibalised most of its parts, actually) and for those that still do it is difficult not to feel a twinge of sadness somewhat that even such a magnificent age had to draw to an ignominious end.

(Oozes with geeky, but perhaps a parable for the evolution of social behaviour as well, on hindsight)