Sgt. Printer’s Lonely Heart’s Club RAM

SGT. PRINTER’S

LONELY HEART’S CLUB RAM

I worry about Michael Jackson. Not the usual things, like will he ever loose his virginity and, if he does, how will he market the event? No, I’m more concerned with his status as the owner of the Beatles’ sheet music. Let’s face it; I think the guy is running out of ways to exploit those songs.

Always willing to help out a multimillionaire in trouble, I am, of course, leaping to the rescue. Why not rewrite the songs with new lyrics that will brings these venerable old classics up-to-date. I mean, how many of today’s modern rock and rollers worry about holding hands with a walrus under marmalade skies? With just a little work, these songs can be about a good deal more than just Yesterday.

Yesterday,
All I needed was 640K,
And my software it would run that way.
Oh, things were cheaper, yesterday.
Suddenly,
Though I bought two megs–they were not free,
I am running out of memory.
640K, where can it be?
Why did I upgrade? Now I’ve paid
The price. Beware
Of the higher cost, when you’ve crossed
To new software.
OS/2.
That upgrade was a dumb thing to do.
Now I cannot run an app; that’s true.
640K, it’s back to you.

* * *

I’m sure some of you are wondering why Mr. Jackson would take advice from me. After all, Michael hangs around with such cultural icons as Isaac Hayes, Steven Spielberg, and Brooke Shields. I admit it, next to people like that, why, I’m A Loser.

I’m a user,
And I need support so please help me.
I’m a user,
But I’m not a corporate entity.
I see my screen
And I’m reading "Abort?"
I have no choice
But to call for support.
And then I wait
Thirty minutes or so
A man comes on
Says, "One thing I must know."
I’m a user,
And I need support so please help me.
I’m a user,
But I’m not a corporate entity.
He asks me how
Many systems I run
He laughs out loud
When I say I have one.
He says to me
In a voice warm as stone
"Just wait a sec’"
Then he hangs up the phone.
I’m a user,
And I need support so please help me.
I’m a user,
But I’m not a corporate entity.

* * *

Hey, admit it; if Paul McCartney could write lyrics like that, he’d be a rich man.

But it’s Michael, not Paul, I have to worry about. And as I understand it, that Jackson is a pretty shrewd businessman. He’d probably take one look at me, laugh, and say something like "I’m Looking Through You."

I’m looking for it–the meaning’s clear;
I can’t ignore it–that file’s not here.
Last night I saved it the same old way,
Then overwrote it, some time today.
Why, tell me why did I not back up right?
Files have a nasty habit of disappearing overnight.
That information–it’s gone for good.
So is my station–that’s understood.
Without that data, I’ve not a prayer.
I’m looking for it, and it’s nowhere.

* * *

The big question, of course, is whether Michael will like my idea. Frankly, I think he’ll jump for it quicker than you can say "Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds." (Okay, smarty, can you find a better way to casually work that title into a sentence?)

Picture your disk as a simplified drawing
With folders within, and desktops without.
Down in the corner a trash can is standing;
For old files it’s waiting about.
Windows appearing all over the screen,
Waiting for your next command.
Pull down a menu and what do you find
With your mouse.
Graphics are the new interface.
Graphics are the new interface.
Graphics are the new interface.
Oh—-
Click on an icon and open your data
With WYSIWYG letters and pictures inside.
Pick up a tool like a pencil or scissors;
Your world has become simplified.
Now you need something, a sentence or two
In a file that is three folders deep.
Click here and there and keep clicking again
With your mouse.
Graphics are the new interface.
Graphics are the new interface.
Graphics are the new interface.
Oh—-

* * *

Well, after a close examination of the possibilities, maybe the best we can all hope for is for Mr. Jackson to simply Let It Be.

When I try to run the latest desktop
Publisher that’s on the street,
My hardware cries out sadly:
Obsolete.
And when I need those three dimensions
In a graph or a spreadsheet,
My hardware cries out sadly:
Obsolete.
Obsolete, obsolete,
Obsolete, yeah, obsolete,
My hardware cries out sadly:
Obsolete.
And as I watch my system slow down
Or give up, as in defeat,
It knows what I am thinking:
Obsolete.
Perhaps I’ll buy a whole new setup,
Highest price, and all complete.
Then I’ll have one more year ’til
Obsolete.
Obsolete, obsolete,
Obsolete, yeah, obsolete,
Then I’ll have one more year ’til
Obsolete.

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