Herbie is my laptop. Having a name by which to refer to 'him' gives me a sort of feeling of intimacy and personal space that I never feel on the big, impersonal, completely nameless family desktop computer. I enjoy spending time with him more. His size is nearly a quarter of that of the nameless desktop. Who needs to display their information for metres on either side of their head? I can see exactly what I want in his tiny, little screen, like a glimpse into a world that is mine only. It is very personal. He is a very Personal Computer.
He gets his name from yes, Herbie the Love Bug. Like a VW Beetle, there are new, flash, streamlined models of him, but like Herbie, his old, vintage fashion exudes a sort of life and PERSONALITY that far exceeds the witless new models. He is my little love bug.
Herbie has not been quite so well of late. A couple of days back, I went to turn him off for the night. I shut him down and unplugged him from the wall, but as I didn't linger to catch his final farewelling cries, I failed to discover that he was going to sit up later than usual to download updates. Oh if only I'd tarried to listen to him!
He never slept. He stayed up all night, and as I woke in the morning, I saw his face, palid in the waxing gloom of early morning, his life's spark fluttering feebly, a mumbled cough exhuming his last composure. He had run his life batteries down.
I hooked him up to life support immediately, rent with anxiety. He remained in an immovable coma all day long. At intervals I came to sit by his side, just watching for a sign of life somewhere. But it was not there.
Late that afternoon, I entered the sick room with my father. I could hardly bear to watch. My father examined him without much hope in his heart, but then, oh! A flutter! What was that? It was Herbie's life surging up into him! The delight grew again like a full-fledged tree within me and I beamed like the sun. He was going to be alright.
He is now alive and well.
He is fully charged.
He is Herbie Fully Loaded.