We've been hit! Damage report, ensign...

So my computer blew up. Ahem.

It's like getting kicked in the balls, having your right arm chopped off and watching all your favourite comics get burned (something I occaisionally have nightmares about. . . 'Noooo! I've gotta save this one! It's from 1983 and it's written by Elliot S Maggins. Batman grins in it goddammit!!' . . . ) all rolled into one.

I never realise what a 21st Century cliche kid I can be until my computer dies like that. No more reading stupid pointless random things about old TV shows I get a hankering after, like Captain N - a cartoon I would debase myself for to see again. Or going on a quest to scour the internet looking for some files that will make Doom, a 12-year old game, look better, only to realise it's four in the ay em and I have classes the next morning... or is that had classes..? Not to mention gaming! Killing anonymous Germans dressed as counter-terrorists? Now THATS entertainment.

A computer in the right hands is more than just a tool, or a gadget. Sad as it is to say, it's a life-style. Do I read newspapers? Do I fuck. You get it all for free online. Same can be said for anything digital. I remember the heyday of Napster, just before Lars (bitch) Urich got his teeth into it. It was anarchy, beautiful anarchy. Anything you wanted, it was yours, and nobody but the geek-core knew what was up. Now you can buy Napster vouchers at the Post Office. Just not the same, is it?

*ahem*

Where was I? Me, computer, important. Cool.

At the time of the crash, I was playing Far Cry. For the uninitiated, this is a first-person shooter, set in a jungle. You use stealth, hide in the bushes, stalk these mercs who are looking for you, and kill them all. It's really pretty, trust me. I was having a ball, sniping at them from a tower a mile away when *deeeewwwwwww... * Black screen.

Now, occaisionally this happens, I wasn't so worried, but it wouldn't restart. Shit. I took the cover off, which bugged me, since I had only put it back on the day before after months of running it open. Inside it was like a sauna. I prodded around carefully. What was hot, the power supply, or the processor? If it's the PSU, it's not so bad. None of the real stuff it hurt. If it's the processor though... my mind wheeled at the prospect... new motherboard, new processor... was the RAM okay? This is bad, I thought. I might need to remake the whole bloody thing. This is all I need now, etc.

I moped around for days, feeling thoroughly gutted, looking at my consoles with contempt. You're not as good as her, said the crazy voice in my head (um ... maybe). I was also very sulky towards my girlfriend, which I have since made up for.

That was last Wednesday. Last night I got a call from my saintly Mother, who had kindly taken it in for a service with the people she works for. It was the power supply. New one fitted. Home in a few hours.

YES! AHAHAHA! It's like being told that you don't have cancer. Okay, maybe thats an awful comparison, but you get my drift. New PSU, no cost, me = happy.

Last night, I get it home, ready to pick up where I left off with Far Cry. A quick exam shows no obvious faults, let's rock... for twenty minutes. Before another crash.

Cold sweat. I hit the power button, and it worked, thank god! Quickly, I head into the BIOS to see that the processor is running at well over 90 degress, which, I'm told is not good. But she works, and is now running, naked, at a more comfortable 75.

I think the cover was overheating the machine. I hadn't had it on since I got my new processor, becuase of all the screwdriver work that needed doing then. With the cover on, I was literally cooking my machine. Man that was scary. I wonder if that's what it's like having kids?

Normal service will resume later today.