Times New Roman, that’s how I roll.

In the world of font, I know I’m backing one tired, old horse. But there’s something undeniably comforting in its blandness.

There’s no impression of subterfuge or arrogance; it’s just a font that’s there to get the job done. I appreciate that.

It happens to be the font I write almost everything in.

And by “write”, I mean my two fingers slam into a crumb-filled keyboard in a rapid succession, then I look at my screen to see if I messed up anything.

True story.

But it got me to thinking how little I ever physically write.

So much so, the only things I actually ever physically write down are performance ideas that pop into my head. I have to write ideas down immediately, cause I’m the type of guy who forgets stuff on a semi-regular basis.

What … what was I talking about?

Hey! I’ll be here all week.

Actually, I only write on paper when my laptop isn’t accessible.

My handwriting is pretty lousy to begin with, but I wonder if I’m losing a skill because I so rarely pick up a pen. Or maybe when born, my brain had been anticipating how much I’d enjoy clacking away on a keyboard.

And I do, by golly, I do.

I’ve had this one-ton brick for a laptop for almost three years. I’m kinda attached to the thing no matter how many times I’ve wanted to defenestrate it.

I’d now like to thank the universe for presenting me the opportunity to use the word “defenestrate”.

You got the Internet, kids, look it up.

Even without cracking my laptop open, the nicks on the outside tell a story of wear and tear, of a piece of electronics that is thoroughly used … or just dropped a lot.

I guess I’m wondering why I treat something, obviously worth more than a couple of private-sector paychecks, like my stomach on a hangover day at Tags. I mean, if this is my main writing tool, shouldn’t I treat the thing a little better?

It’s not that hard to think about humans treating their technologies like their unwanted pets. It’s like the batch of Sea Monkeys that you grew because you’d been dying, for so long, to have real Sea Monkeys, and then they “hatch” and you watch with quickly fading interest the antics of freeze-dried krill.

Disappointing, absolutely, I wanted the whole freaking Sea Monkey Royal Family. But still, they were mine and I loved them.

Like this thing currently overheating my pants.

We’ve spent a few long, dark, Yukon winters together, my main window to the world. The real one had plastic on it.

But this dandy piece of computing has also crashed countless times, attracted more viruses than pork products and fried a hard drive filled with pictures and documents.

So sometimes if I feel the need to retaliate and eat a muffin over it, so be it.

But I’ll likely never get rid of the thing. I love it too much. It still does exactly what I need it to. It gets the writing job done.

Unlike the Wingdings(wingdings) font. What’s up with those??