I think most of you reading this know how much I have always loved my technology. Between computers, printers, Nintendo consoles, CD players, VCRs, DVD players/recorders, CD players, MP3 players/iPods, television sets, flash drives, cell phones...yeah, I've had countless electronic devices over the years, and I've loved every one. Some may think it's stupid for technology to be so important to me, but those people don't realize that, without it, I never would have graduated high school. One of the symptoms of my disorder is having bad coordination, which meant my handwriting was terrible. For that reason, I was given a device to type my work on by the school system in fifth grade, and I had one until I graduated from high school. Some people decried it and felt it was hurting me and that I actually could write legibly with practice, but what they have always failed to grasp is that I did practice more than one summer, and still got the exact same complaints at the beginning of every school year. So, I fully believe that, without digital assistance, I would not be where I am today.
What does that have to do with the titular statement? Simply this: Yesterday, the Epson printer I've had since 2000 bit the dust. I had thought its death was imminent; over the past few months, it had produced one shoddy printout after another, even though I replaced the cartridges and cleaned the print heads. It even failed to let me know the black ink was out a month or two ago, and it had never done that previously. Throughout its lifetime, it had helped me print countless documents: greeting cards, CD booklets, bookmarks, various school assignments and projects, pictures of everything from Pokémon to Victoria Justice, binder covers, and probably others I'm not thinking of at the moment. The Epson's death came at a rather bad time; not only do I not have a replacement printer, but I was going to increase my sending out of cards made on Print Shop to my friends and family for birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, and other such occasions. I can still do it; what I'll have to do is save them to my flash drive as PDFs via the Mac OS X Print dialog box, and then take them to the library to print them out. It'll cost to print each page, but it'll still be more heartfelt than a pre-printed Hallmark card.
Friends, let me be honest: I know that my late Epson printer was not a living thing. It didn't have a soul, nor did it ever feel any emotion. Still, when anything--a car, a video game console, a piece of furniture, etc.--has been with someone for that long, it's hard for that person to not feel a sense of attachment to it, especially when it's served him/her faithfully for several years, only to fall to pieces in mere months. I plan on getting a new printer one of these days; maybe I can find a good deal on one at a yard sale or Best Buy. It'll probably be another Epson; not only is twelve years a good lifespan for pretty much any piece of technology, but, the one that just died was actually a replacement for a defective same-model printer that my mom bought from CompUSA in 1999. I'm pretty sure it was replaced quickly and free of charge; since we'd had it less than a year, it was most likely under warranty. So, with such a good reputation, how could I not get another Epson? However, no matter what printer I get, it won't be that Epson. That old blue printer will always hold a special place in my heart, just like my Commodore 64, my Game Boy Color, and my first Mac. That may be hard for some of you to understand, but I think some of my tech-loving friends will get it.
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