Henrietta Hay's Column

I have always accepted the rational theory that computers are dumb machines that simply process what humans put into them. You know: "Garbage in, garbage out." But I think I may have been wrong. Computers are not dumb; they cam come alive and play sneaky tricks on unsuspecting humans.

In theory, if a piece of data is embedded in the computer, it is there until a human hand or a power failure changes or removes it. If it performs a certain function on Monday, logic demands that, if requested, it perform that identical function on Tuesday.

Well - so I thought. Shortly before I left on vacation, I was writing under a good deal of pressure. My printer needed a new ribbon, so I changed it without putting my brain in gear, always a dangerous thing to do. Of course, I got the ribbon in wrong. After a few false starts I commanded my Mac to "PRINT." It did. In pure gobbledygook. What I got was, "It's allFO479Yonfusing..." and "E&44 is EuF0500tB." My editor at the Sentinel would not have been happy.

A lot of the antics of modern machines are designed to drive us up the wall, but a computer/printer that won't print when you are leaving town in two days and have to get a column in, is close to the top of the list. I decided to turn it off and let it us both rest. Two hours later I tried again and it still printed go5bb8le; dy44goo>k. After two more hours of rest, it kicked out some English, but in type so small I couldn't read it without a magnifying glass. I had never seen that typeface before and have no idea where it came from. I gave up and went to bed.

The next morning before heading for the repair shop, I decided to gave it one last try, knowing, of course, that nothing had changed. Guess What! It printed peacefully and normally. If it had a tongue it would have stuck it out at me.

Obviously, eight hours of sleep was all it needed to spring wide awake and bushy tailed into normal activity. Since this phenomenon is completely impossible in a machine, I am faced with the possibility that I have a living thing in my office.

There have been others. How could I have forgotten HAL 9000, the renegade computer in the 1968 movie "2001: A Space Odyssey"? HAL was conceived in a midwestern laboratory and met his end near Jupiter at the hands of an astronaut with a screwdriver. HAL had just murdered the other four-crew members, so it was a good thing the screwdriver was handy. Arthur C. Clarke, who created HAL when he wrote the screenplay, defends his electronic friend. He says that HAL was not a bad computer; he was just misunderstood. He had been told that he must not tell the astronauts the reason for their voyage to Jupiter and the deception caused such guilt feelings that he went berserk. Imagine, a computer with feelings.

Dave Barry has had his share of experiences with live computers. His special problem is viruses, which "computers get when they're left uncovered in drafty rooms.... if you are working on an infected Computer it will periodically emit electronic sneezes...the word 'ACHOO' appears on the screen and you'll be showered with billions of tiny invisible pieces of electronic phlegm." So far I have kept my MAC healthy and will continue to make every effort to prevent those nasty viruses away from him/her/it. Maybe Dave Barry should give his computer more rest.

I have been trying to persuade all my non-computer friends that modern life is impossible without one of the beasts. But maybe they know something I don't know. Even Ann Landers is not convinced. She has written over 10,000 columns on an aging IBM electric typewriter. Maybe she believes she is protecting all those people who write to her from a capricious computer.

Mike Royko doesn't trust computers, either. When the machine keeps sending back the message, "You made a mistake," he feels that, "I think it knows what I'm saying, but it just won't admit it because it don't want me to have the satisfaction."

I'm love my MAC, but I think I will never call it dumb again. And I'll give it plenty of sleep.