Setting the Clock Back
I’m making some changes to some really old software whose license ran out some time ago. As a result, whenever I want to test my stuff, I need to set my computer’s clock back two years, or the server won’t even start. This has led to some very strange behavior:
When I bring up my browser and go to the Washington Post, it shows me a bunch of two-year-old stories. I read about the upcoming presidential elections, the Enron debacle, the Martha Stewart trial.
When I send email to people, the responses I get back are preplexing. A guy I met last week claims not to know who I am. My aunt and uncle in Texas politely ask me what I’m talking about when I write to thank them for their hospitality on my recent vacation. My wife firmly reminds me that our upcoming anniversary is our ninth, not our eleventh.
When I go looking for files that I just saved, I can’t find them, or the directories they used to be in. Two years worth of work is gone; it never existed.
And so on. I set the time back five years, ten years, more. The operating system changes, becomes Windows NT, then Windows 95, then Windows 3.1. My browser becomes Netscape, then Mosaic, then Lynx, then disappears. I’m looking at a black screen with a command line and a little white cursor, blinking implacably. Everything gets slower. I’m communicating with the Internet via dialup, then not at all. My computer swells in size until it takes up half my cube, and the hard drive blurps out of its casing and becomes two spinning reels, and then a wax drum. A technician in a white labcoat and thick black-rimmed glasses appears beside it and starts pulling vacuum tubes. My keyboard vanishes, is replaced by a stack of punchcards. The monitor melts down into a chattering teletype machine.
And now there’s nothing but an abacus sitting on my desk. I move the beads around, trying to figure out how to set its clock, but it doesn’t appear to have one. I think I’ve reached the point of no return.
I guess this means it’s time for lunch.
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