The following conversation took place at 6:20 am this morning.
MARC: I need to get up and make coffee. I scheduled server maintenance at 7:00.
ME: You have to maintenance your own server? Doesn’t Rackspace do that?
ME: Let me remind you, I ask these questions because I really don’t know the answers.
MARC: Why would they maintain my server?
ME: Why wouldn’t they?
MARC: WHY WOULD THEY?
ME: I can play this game all day, you know.
MARC: (disgusted sigh)
ME: And so I’ll ask again… What kind of maintenance do you have to do to the server?
MARC: Air up the tires and check the oil and stuff. (WHO’S THE FUNNY GUY?!)
ME: (disgusted sigh)
MARC: I have to update the software.
ME: Servers have software? What kind of software?
MARC: (said with genuine disbelief) I really don’t know how to answer your question. I don’t even know what you’re asking.
ME: Seriously? What the hell? It’s really a reasonable question. Do I have a server? Do I schedule maintenance on my imaginary server?
MARC: (said like a whiney little kid about to throw a tantrum) BUT YOU’RE ASKING ME ABOUT SOFTWARE! (If he had been standing up, there would have been a foot stomp. He might have even fallen down and rolled around on the ground)
ME: I know what f*cking software is. I just didn’t know how a server works. But thank you for explaining it to me in a way that doesn’t make me question my intelligence. Or rather, your opinion of my intelligence.
MARC: (instantly calm) Oh. Well, you’re welcome.
So now, not only am I going to credit my upcoming web page to Marc, I’m also going to go get a server. And put stuff on it. And maintenance it. And make it dinner and do its laundry. I bet my new server will tell me I’m smart, notice when I get a haircut, and watch Sex and the City with me. You guys are going to love him!
If only Marc were here. He could probably explain this to me. OR NOT. I also asked him about some very basic skillz (CSS-related) and he very politely pointed me to a website, the way one would give a stranger directions. Like, you’re slightly annoyed at being asked - because doesn’t everyone have some sort of GPS shit on their phones? - but you’ll spare a few precious minutes being a decent human.
P.S. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t read this blog because I made it and it exists on the web. So therefore it would probably burn his eyes.
This one I pulled from the archives.
So I took a Dreamweaver class. Not because I think that Dreamweaver is amazing or is a glorious substitute for coding, but because it was free. F-R-E-E.
Jessica: So I made a website. Come over here and look at it.
Marc: (raises eyebrows) You did what?
J: Ug. I made a website. Come look.
M: (just sits there)
J: Just look at it. It’s not all HTML-tastic but it’s useable. It’s not ridiculous or anything. Just quit judging it from the couch and judge it to its face!
M: (comes over, stares at computer for about 30 seconds) Um, yeah. That’s… It’s nice.
J: What’s the problem?
M: I mean, it’s fine. Sure.
J: Why do I need a website? I don’t. So this one has a photo of me, some nice colors, and links to social networking stuff. It’s simple. It doesn’t need to be all complicated and do complicated shit.
M: Yeah. It’s… I mean… Why did you do this again?
J: I don’t know. Because maybe I want to create websites for a living using Dreamweaver?
STARE DOWN ENSUES
J: Just because I wanted to. To see how hard it was. I mean, apparently we have established that you aren’t going to make me a website. We’ve apparently also established that this embarrasses you. And you know what? IT SHOULD. You should be embarrassed that you won’t create a website for your girlfriend because THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS! LOOK AT WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!
P.S. I never published it, but I mean, come on. It’s not that heinous. I’ve seen websites that look like Myspace profiles. I could have gone that route.
P.P.S. I was never able to shame Marc into making me a website. Back to the drawing board. I’m thinking a comic sans font might do the trick. Wish me luck.
I’ve decided to start recording conversations between Marc and I, the ones where I ask a very simple, reasonable question and he looks at me like I’ve just told him that I’m leaving him for Edward Cullen. The actual Edward Cullen. Like I think he’s a real person.
Me: So, what happens when “the server crashes?” (Use of air quotes here)
Marc: (blank stare, blinks eyes)
Me: I mean, what causes a server to crash? And how do you fix it? You’re always talking about server problems and fixing them. I just want to know what that means.
Marc: (continued blank stare)
Marc: I don’t understand the question.
Me: Why are you looking at me like I’m an alien? What happens when a server crashes? Is it really that complicated of a question?
Marc: It’s like you asking me, “Why won’t my car go?”
Me: First off, I would never ask, “Why won’t my car ‘go?’” Maybe “why won’t my car start” but never what you said.
Marc: That’s not the point - the point is that what you’re asking is way too broad to be answered in one sentence.
Me: (becoming irritated) Well, couldn’t you just have given me a f*cking EXAMPLE?
Marc: (shrugs) Flat tire?