I like rebuilding laptops. The first one I actually rebuilt was a Dell XPS-M170. When I was in highschool, my youth group leader (a fellow nerd and local IT manager) had gotten one brand-spanking-new for playing WoW when he traveled to Canada to visit his girlfriend. I remember being blown away in 2005, and deciding then and there that someday I'd own one. In 2008 or so, I found a dead one for sale for parts on eBay, and found some parts for sale, and eventually a video card. I followed some video guides on YouTube at the office after-hours one summer, and stripped it down to the motherboard, then built it back up with the new parts. It was a nerve-wracking experience, but also quite rewarding to learn the ins and outs of laptop repair. Over the years I ended up working on dozens of laptops (for friends, relatives, and myself), but something about rebuilding the gaming dinosaurs of recent history intrigued me. In 2014 or so, I got to do my second big rebuild: an XPS M1710. I&
If you know me, I am not a performer. I don't particularly like to be the center of attention. I'm not the life of the party, but I'll get people involved in it. The spotlight doesn't have that draw for me, but there is an undeniable draw to the gleam of success and recognition. I am good at my job. I am not the best. I make mistakes, and there are many shortcomings I could list without even needing an outside observer to inform me. These humbling reminders aside, I am good at what I do. My boss tells me this. Clients tell me this. Coworkers tell me this. But while I can know and be told I have some skill, something in me wants to be recognized and applauded for it. Somehow, I am a friend or acquaintance of many people who have achieved what I would measure to be some form of success in their life or work, and while I don't want their life, I want their moment. To be the guy who did the thing for one shining moment. Jealousy is a silly thing. I literally want