Mr. Keyboard (2008-2010)

on September 24, 2010

Well guys, it sucks to say this, but there’s been another death in my family of beloved possessions. And the worst part is that it happened on the same day I patched up Mr. Pursuit, who you’ll remember from a couple of posts ago (you do read all my posts, right?). I’m still not sure if Mr. Pursuit will live again, but I do know that my tape job was pretty poorly executed. It looks like there may be some wind this Sunday, so I’ll see if he comes to life then; I’ll be sure to provide some photos and an update. I know you guys care about him as much as I do, but let’s put Mr. Pursuit’s well-being aside for a moment in honor of the victim of my most recent tragedy, Mr. Keyboard.

Again, I am responsible. Mr. Keyboard lived a good life, despite being brought into this world by evil forces in 2008. You see, he was a Microsoft keyboard, and they named him “Natural Ergonomic Keyboard 4000.” He was but a number to this faceless corporation. To me, he was so much more.

I found him on the corner of the street (well, ok, it was Amazon.com); he looked like he hadn’t been cared for since the day he was born. Can you imagine that? Not a single soul had touched him… no affection or love at all: it’s a cold, cold world out there, my friends. And that was too much for my tender heart—I couldn’t take it, so I picked him up and took him in. Sure the adoption fees were hefty at $40, but you can’t put a price on a keyboard’s future, now can you? Shame on you.

Over the next year, he became like a son to me. Together we conquered problem sets, dispatched essays, architected programs, fulfilled promises, and broke traditions. And when my RSI was at its worst and I tore my wrist in early 2009, who was there to soothe me with his natural—and dare I say, ergonomic—curves? It was Mr. Keyboard. Not this piece of crap Logitech I have to suffer for the next few days. And when I left The Hill to seek a new life in Austin, who followed me faithfully without complaint, despite being shoved into a moving van? It was Mr. Keyboard.

But yesterday, just as quick as I had found him for the first time, Mr. Keyboard shut his eyes for the last. I wonder what he saw at that last moment… I know that when I close mine, I see his smile… :) — w–why yes… how did you know? And I remember how he used to prank me with his playful jokes. Oh how I regret my frustration! Of course num-lock was off! It was my own fault! Forgive me, Mr. Keyboard. And those times I would slam on him in frustration when it was in fact the computer—or worse, myself—who was being retarded. Oh how I regret my heavy hand! May God have mercy on my soul.

And most of all, may He forgive me for my darkest mistake, for I introduced Mr. Keyboard to the Devil. On that particular day, he came in the form of Mr. Belkin 2-port KVM Switch with Built-In Cabling. I should have known from his name alone that Mr. Belkin was up to no good. But he tempted me so with his promise of unified command. “Imagine,” he told me, “Mr. Keyboard and Mr. Trackball will wield the power of two computers.” In my mind, he knew I was furiously relishing the potential of Mr. Keyboard’s future in such a world. Imagine, indeed, the fulfillment that one’s child may rise to the occasion and accomplish so much more than the sum of one’s own meager existence. This was the promise Mr. Belkin sold me on; I was tired of stretching forwards across my desk to type on Mr. Powerbook’s keyboard. It was my own desire for convenience that cost Mr. Keyboard his life. This kind of sticky, oily regret cannot be washed away with Dove soap.

It happened so fast. I inserted Mr. Keyboard and Mr. Trackball’s USB connectors into Mr. Belkin’s welcoming ports. In turn, I connected Mr. Belkin’s connectors into my two computers. His orange eyes lit up immediately. I should have seen the evil flicker in the reflection of his pupils when he was so close to the kill, but I was like Slughorn, too fat and blind—no, not fat, just blind—too blind to see past Mr. Belkin’s best Tom Riddle impression. Little did I know that he would one day become Lord KVoldeMort with Built-In Cabling. An evil that somehow was too much, even for Mr. Keyboard’s Microsoft pedigree.

And so, when I hit the switch on Mr. Belkin’s face, I sprung his eager trap. A flash of green light shot up to Mr. Keyboard, frying his circuitry. “Avadra KVMadavra,” I thought I heard. Mr. Keyboard’s green eyes flashed one last time and num-lock was off for good.

Dude, what’s wrong with you?

Ok, ok—so that was a bit over the top. But really, my Microsoft Natural Ergonomic Keyboard 4000 actually did get fried by this worthless KVM switch. I couldn’t believe it. I actually wrote this post in the hopes that someone else comes in from a search engine asking the same thing: “kvm switch broke keyboard.” If you are this person, I want you to know that you are not alone. The 2-port Belkin KVM with Built-In Cabling took a dear friend of mine, and in his memory, I am trying to promote awareness of this silent killer. You can be sure my replacement keyboard (same model, obviously) will never go into a KVM switch, especially not one by Belkin. Remember boys and girls, if it looks like Tom Riddle, it’s probably Voldemort. But if it looks like Emma Watson, please tell her to call me.