You can rip, but you can't burn

Learning by experience is supposed to be the best way, according to a lot of people from Aristotle forward. Tacitus was succinct: Experientia docuit. But he was talking about extracting bitumen from a lake.  Based on the experience I underwent over the last couple of days, I would say little known American humourist Josh Billings was more accurate when he said, “Experience is a grindstone; and it is lucky for us, if we can get brightened by it and not ground.” Right now, I feel slightly ground; I may feel brightened later.

About fifteen years ago that I decided I had had enough learning experiences to last a lifetime. What I did not foresee, however, was the march of computer technology. Undaunted, I recently learned how to rip CDs. Based on the ease of that experience, I blithely decided to burn a music CD for my grandson’s fifth birthday. I chose the pieces from the CDs I had already ripped onto my laptop.

Soon, I had a playlist ready to burn. This shouldn’t be hard, I thought, since there was the Burn tab at the top of the screen. I put my blank disc into the DVD player, but when I hit the tab, nothing happened ― except for a message telling me to put in a blank disc. Undaunted I did it again:  same result (there is a cliché about this kind of behaviour, but it escapes me for the moment).

After consultation with the resident computer guru, we decided the best thing was to call the helpful people at Lenovo. After choosing English, I was faced with a number of other options, none of which seemed to quite fit my dilemma, so I chose the first one and figured they could transfer me to the right person if need be.

 

Shortly I was talking to a nice young man evidently called Chris. Before I could explain my problem, he needed to know a few things about my computer like when I bought it (last November), in whose name it was registered (Greg’s), and what was its serial number. Well, that stumped me. There were quite a few numbers across the top of the receipt, but none of them was what Chris was looking for. I began to feel like the character Judi Dench played in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel when her computer misbehaved and she called for help. Her desk was tidier than mine, however.

 

Chris suggested the number might be on the back of the computer. That meant not just turning it over but also turning it around, along with the mouse and DVD player. The electric cord became suspended alongside the phone cord.

 

And no, the number was not likely on the piece of sticky tape back there. Oh, try looking on the computer itself. Squinting to read, I could make out a column of numbers and yes, about halfway down in about font size 3.5 was “s/n.” Would that be it? Chris thought so. The problem was that even with my new upgraded bifocals, I couldn’t read it. 

I had to ask Chris if he could wait until I found my magnifying glass. I have a lovely pewter magnifying glass in the shape of a turtle, but it must have been hiding under the desk detritus. I remembered someone had given me a plastic magnifying glass thin enough to be kept in one’s wallet. I reached for my purse, and in doing so, I jerked the phone cord, and the base of the phone crashed to the floor.

 
Chris was unperturbed. I wasn’t quite so sanguine, as now I couldn’t open the hermetically sealed plastic covering the magifying glass until, with my free hand, I found a pair of scissors.

 Then I thought turning on a light might help. Finally I was able to read the tiny black print on the dark orange background. And yes, this computer matched Greg’s name. We were off to the races.

 To follow the example of Tacitus and be succinct, it turned out the problem was not with the computer or any of its ports. Chris had suggestions; I followed as best I could:  “You mean the port next the hinge?... “Just a sec, I need to reattach the mouse” … “ No, I don’t know what that port is for, because I’m not sure what those icons mean” …  “Oh, the one five in from the end” …  “Got it” …  “Now what?”

 

Chris advised me, after extensive further consultation with someone else, that the external HP DVD Drive  might embody the fatal flaw. I thanked him heartily and before we rang off, I asked him to repeat the serial number in case I ever needed it again. That was useful.

As much as I had enjoyed my chat with Chris, I decided to go to the Internet to find out about the DVD player. After putting the model number into Google, I discovered a web-site with a 98% happy customer service rate. There was someone with my very question about that pesky pop-up window. Then there was a list of instructions and if those didn’t work, there were more. When I got to “Uninstall,” I hesitated. Time to consult with Greg again before leaping into that unknown.

 

Last week, he had cavalierly accepted an offer to update some program, which had resulted in our apparently losing all our photos and our entire contact list. He then spent a very unhappy couple of days texting (his only choice, apparently) with three or four helpers at Windows. It got so intense I had to bring him lunch in his office both days. I didn’t want to repeat that.

 

Then we remembered the flash drive, transferred the playlist to it and copied it to a disc. Whew! To our dismay, however, none of the songs was in the right order. We numbered them ― still in the wrong order. Then I noticed they seemed to be in alphabetical order. We added the letters from A to J to the selections. It worked!!

 

But only too well. For some reason, the playlist copied itself three times over and then copied each selection alphabetically three times over. The original 47-minute playlist was now well over four hours. I decided I didn’t care. It would be handy not to have to hit repeat and if my grandson’s parents didn’t want more, they could always hit stop.

I thought I’d see how it sounded on our CD player ― the one separate from the computer. It didn’t sound at all! Nothing! This was another learning experience. Apparently not all CDs are made to work outside of computers. Guess which kind we had been using. Guess which was the only way the grandson’s family could play the CD.

Guess what I felt like doing.

Well, it was too far too the basement to get the hammer, so I considered other possibilities.  One involved asking for outside advice from my friend John who makes CD compilations annually at Christmas; in fact, it was his example I was following in burning a CD in the first place.

He suggested using iTunes. By this time, I was ready to accept any advice.

We bravely downloaded iTunes.  Now it only remained to transfer the playlist from Windows Media over to iTunes. It was lunch time again. I went to make egg salad sandwiches. Somehow, Greg got it to work. We had lunch together at the dining room table. It was pleasant.
 

Now all I had to do was to get the right CD. I search on the Staples site, found what I thought I needed, phoned the nearest Staples (in Strathroy) and talked to Melanie. Like Chris she consulted with someone else; we then concurred that the product I had chosen should fit the bill. And Staples has them in stock ― lots of them, according to Melanie.

 

We are going to pick them up around suppertime this evening.  Staples is open ‘til 8:00. (I checked). Then we will have dinner at Pizza Delight to celebrate the imminent and, of course, successful download. What can possibly go wrong now?