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Mokey and the Autonomous Mouse

Meet Mokey.

She's a poet, a dreamer, occasionally gets in over her head by not really thinking through her promises or caught in her own good, but misguided, intentions.

So not mine, but clearly me.

We both have silvery hair, though she's by far the tallest Fraggle and I'm hardly ever the tallest anything.

Mokey is also the name I've chosen for my spandy-new MacBook. (1)

It's the first time I've bothered to name a computer since freshmen year, when some of us on Taylor C went for surfer-dude names (I had Chet, the others were Rod and Tad.  Possibly we had the only named dorm fridges in existence--which madness started when someone put Inigo's go-to speech up on hers and then they all had to have names from The Princess Bride.)

It's also the first time I've had a laptop that's MINE, ALL MINE that didn't start out as J's.  I've been totally cool with having her hand-me-downs, 'cause she's always been responsible for way more of the computer geekery around here, but hey, I'm catching up.

Mokey's got a trackpad, of course, but I've been dying to steal the phrase "autonomous mouse" ever since my boss (who was actually looking for the word "wireless") used it to describe what she wanted from our IT folks.

And, in that sense, the Moke and I are autonomous in fabulous new ways, since the laptop she's replacing was down to a battery life of six minutes and an alarming habit of shutting down due to said battery life even while plugged in.

Coffeehouse blogging, here we come!
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(1) Yes, she's a black one.  Apparently 38 is not too old taken in by shameless "cool factor" marketing ploys.

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