For Thursday, May 7, 1998 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 718 words

Spring overflow

I'll warn you now that I'll be making a subtle segue later into the topic of computers.

I drove over to REI in Concord on Monday to purchase a toothpick for my Swiss Army Knife. It cost me one dollar, plus $2 for the bridge and gas. Some may consider that behavior compulsive, or dorky, but I had to have that toothpick.

When I discovered that I'd lost it over the weekend, after having that knife for six years, I freaked. Swiss Army Knives and I go back 20 years. I've lost whole knives, broken a few saws, but never lost a toothpick or tweezers.

How could this have happened to me? Sure, I've heard of it happening to other people, faceless strangers in the Midwest, but it never seemed quite real. When the loss hit me and my family in my home here in Benicia, I was taken aback. Something had to be done, and soon.

Immediately after work Monday, and just after the appointment with the dentist who is going to rip out my wisdom teeth in a few weeks, I fought the traffic to the Willows. I bought the toothpick. Actually, I bought two. I'm now stocked in toothpicks for the next 40 years. That's the end of the story.

I did bump into BHS grad, former student and backpacking dude, Anderson "Andy" Carlisle, working the counter at REI. "Hey, Andy."

While I was at the Willows, I wandered into IncompUSA. I figured I'd check out their overpriced stock while waiting for the 680-traffic east to clear. Immediately, I saw an Adaptec 2940 Ultra Wide SCSI card for $349. I just bought one from Laitron Computers a mile away for $160. The Logitech 5-function mouse I bought at the Vallejo computer fair for $31 last weekend I saw for $64. The 10-pak of Zip disks I paid $90 for, I saw selling for $129. The people in pricing need to get out more.

I mentioned to one young clerk that I buy most of my computer equipment from Laitron. He said, "Yeah, so do I."

I asked a managerial-looking employee why I hadn't received my rebates yet on mice and disks bought in November. He shrugged and said, "Hey, I've been waiting for my rebates for six weeks now."

I walked up to a senior employee, a man shirted, not in clerk-red, but in white with a tie. These distinctive garments single him out as a big mucky-muck, like assistant manager. I asked him where I might find cheap CD cases. I was expecting him to direct me to Target or K-Mart. Instead, he looked around at the shelves and said, "Those are upstairs."

I asked the upstairs clerk where the cheap CD cases were. He pointed over the balcony, down to the first floor. "Somewhere in there," he said. He waved his finger around. By then, the traffic was clear.

Normally, I'd stop at Fuddruckers for a gargantuan burger, but my wife and I agreed we were going to eat everything in our freezer. Tonight it's frosty chicken.

While Benicia-bound in the heavy stop-n-go traffic, I reflected further on computers. They're pains in the butt, critical tools, fascinating adventures, logic coaches. We all need them, and they are the most complicated household appliances ever made.

I bought a refrigerator, figured it out right away. I bought a vacuum cleaner; the manual was the size of a greeting card. Bought a clock radio, VCR, microwave oven. All three manuals together are thinner than a copy of Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer.

One wall of my den is dedicated to computer manuals. They stack taller than me. If I put them in a bag, I couldn't lift it. If a tornado knocked out our power, I could heat the house for a weekend. If I dropped them on a pig one at a time, the pig would become furious.

The toughest part is keeping up with the exploding technology. Parts are changing out faster than hothouse flowers. It feels like my 20s, when stereos proliferated, and I began to lose touch with modern music. Too many bands cropped up with too many new songs and I lost track. I listened to the radio, but seldom knew who was singing.

Toll booth up ahead.