“I Will Believe in My Glittery Screen.”

Compy goes with me everywhere.

Today I was using the ‘ol computer, typing away at my reinvented hamster wheel and rollerskating through the nets like tomorrow hadn’t been invented yet and I had the life span of an Old Testament patriarch.

I felt magic coursing through my veins as the web opened its doors and welcomed me with the minty breath of an over-eager date. Opportunities pushed me over and grabbed me by the shirt collar, saying, “I’m for you!” Yes, today was different.

It was not like yesterday, when the internet’s waters were grey like grandfather’s liver and my eyes grew weary as they sifted through the words like picking over dance prospects at a honkey tonk after only one drink. Nothing was exciting.

But today, zoom! Bang! Whip! Smash! Crunch! It felt like things were happening.

And then I noticed that my computer screen looked different. It was shining, no, glittering as I sped across the web’s pages. I didn’t think anything of it except for how much of an improvement it was on the dust blanket that eternally covered my monitor in Cairo. And I thought the glitter looked really pretty. It reminded me of when I liked glittery things and the solution to any artistic or decorative dilemma was to rain glitter on that mother effer.

I thought of a conversation I had with my neighbor, a member of a “charismatic” strand of Protestant Christianity, when she told me about a revival at their church. Apparently at the height of the service, some members’ faces and hands started shining with what later turned out to be 24 carat gold.

Maybe I was experiencing something similar, except for it was my computer that was blessed by the Lord and had become a sign to the believers in this household that the Lord does exist and that my computer was an instrument of holy work and had been sanctified for its efforts, that it would now live forever, slowly becoming more and more covered in these glitter specks until it turned into a Mac Wafer, a kind of computer that doesn’t yet exist.

Then I saw a speck towards the right-most edge of the screen that was slightly larger. It looked like a water droplet or something of that nature, but that was impossible, because water evaporates and I hadn’t had any on my computer that day. Oil, however, does not evaporate, and I had been using my computer dangerously close to pots and pans filled with various things sautéing.

My computer screen was not dazzling with flecks of spiritual 24 carat gold. It was cooking oil, either olive or canola, that had splattered onto the screen. My miracle was nothing more than the result of haphazard placement of electronics.

I could choose to be disappointed to think that I merely have a dirty, oily screen that’s no better than the glasses of a fry cook. Instead, I will believe in my glittery screen, will appreciate it for the fact it looks pretty, and will believe that this was still a miracle in its own way, both the fact that I still have a working computer, and the fact the screen looks better now than it ever has.

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25 thoughts on ““I Will Believe in My Glittery Screen.”

  1. Hey, you had a choice between accidental oil splatters and the wonder of glitter, and you chose the glitter. I think that you made the right choice!

  2. Nicole says:

    yikes, that would have freaked me out, I’m glad it’s working fine!

  3. evea192 says:

    I would like one of your computers please? Sound awesome….A Mac Wafer, lol! Loved your post. They say: ” all that glitters aint gold….” and i believe u proofed it.

  4. El Awrence says:

    “I didn’t think anything of it except for how much of an improvement it was on the dust blanket that eternally covered my monitor in Cairo.”

    So… this could be the opening your opening sentence to your updated Daisy Miller-ish novel, your first, set in Cairo. You will have to of course dig much deeper than your earlier apercu post on life in Cairo; a bf will be needed: you could conjure up some spoiled, hashish-smoking, ridiculously handsome scion of some upper class Egyptian family, who is bored with it all. Sprinkle in some mystical, Rimbauesque side trips, with incredibly wise, talking Ethiopian baboons perhaps, and voila!

    My advice: drop the blog; write the book – who cares if strangers comment you write well, from time to time, as they do. You can have a first draft finished by Christmas, if you write quick, which you can, as you are still young. With the no doubt long-running bloody mess that is about to unfold in Egypt, your work will be deemed incredibly relevant, when the book is published, perhaps even more so than today, particularly if the body count starts to mount in a serious way. Dont forget to work in a Lara Logan-ish scene… and with it, the actual sexual menace to women that is the Egypt of today, but temper it with a real understanding of the MBs and the hordes of frustrated young men, whose behavior bears only a passing relation to that of past Cairenes. And always remember that Cairo, not that long ago, in the scheme of things, was once a place where a woman could walk alone from Tahrir across the Kasr el Nil bridge to Zamalek, late at night, and be completely safe. Finally, you know the blogs to consult to stay current.

    I have posted to you twice before, re the writing thingie. Now, do what you were meant to do, before sinking into Americana mediocrity, and forgetting what the memory of what it was really like to live there fades, and is taken over by bullshit Orientalist fabulism, and in retrospect Egypt becomes a receding ship, a tantalizing mirage, that you will one day realize was the most engaging year that you’ve ever had, as you turn into a plastic person with no soul who does something far removed from actual writing, or maybe pumps out crap copy for no money for some bullshit yuppie web site run by some 27 year old ego maniac entrepeneur who has no real idea what you just went through and doesnt care.

    Or sumpin’ like that. You know what they say about free advice. 😉

    • edrevets says:

      I think they say that one should always take free advice. But seriously, thank you so much for the comment. As much as I want to become a soulless, nameless plastic person working for a cog in the machine that gets all the credit, sometimes dream of doing something else. This could be writing a book, or it could be guiding tours for 65 year old foodies in San Francisco. We shall see.

      If I do write that book, you and everyone else on this blog will be the first people to hear about it, except for my friends and family, but they don’t count.

    • In your case, what I would say, is WTF???

  5. Archon's Den says:

    So that’s where miracles come from. These cagy Christians must have had computers for hundreds, or thousands of years.

  6. artzent says:

    You have got the right attitude! What you believe is what you are- most of the time!

  7. If it smells like a burger & fries, your glass is 1/2. full.
    Good read!!!
    I’ll have a side order of snot with mine please.

  8. Julia says:

    Oh no! I never would have thought that possible! I will take warning next time I attempt to blog and cook at the same time. Of course that would imply that I have to use my stove. Ugh cooking.

  9. cassiebehle says:

    Just don’t spill coffee on your computer, have it short out and then say “I have no idea what happened!” at work when they come set up your new (awesome) computer. Wait. DO say that. It works.

    Muahahahaha! 😉

  10. tomwisk says:

    You can’t cook near a computer. Besides getting splattered with oil they make snarky remarks about frying cheap burgers from Foods R Us. A computer by the stove could lead to a case of Marthastewartitis. That’s where you blog about every meal and adorn it with seasonal themes.

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