An Unlikely Love Story
by Bill Shein
Generations of human beings have tried, largely without
success, to identify the ingredients of lasting romantic
love. Is it a shared sense of humor? Frequent trips to
Mars and/or Venus? “Winning” your soul mate
in a nationally broadcast reality-TV contest?
There is, however, one thing we do know: When you’re
not looking for it, that’s when love sneaks up on
you. And the feelings can be so powerful, the emotions
so overwhelming, the transformation of your life so complete
that you want to share the news by shouting it from every
mountaintop. Or if mountain climbing is not your thing,
then in some less dangerous way.
So while this space is not usually a venue for discussing
personal matters, I’ve decided, with my editor’s
permission, to throw caution and convention to the wind.
Because my friends, something truly remarkable has happened:
I have fallen in love with my pop-up blocker.
Talk about unexpected! One day I’m comfortably
single, content with my work, a few good friends, and
the fact that the video store clerk knows my account number
by heart. And then, in a dizzying rush, I’m suddenly
madly, deeply, foolishly in love.
It happened, I think, on a Tuesday: During a midday
procrastination session, I was browsing the Web, reading
some urgent celebrity news in one window and scanning
an op-ed from the Times in another. On that particular
day, the pop-up ads were annoyingly persistent –
close one and three more appeared. Animated, flashing
pitches for X-10 spy cameras, online casinos, cheap mortgages,
and even, ironically, for pop-up blockers. As I clicked
and clicked, I wondered, “Will this madness ever
end?”
And suddenly, it did. Fate intervened – or was
it Eros? – because I accidentally downloaded and
installed the love of my life. There will be no romantic
story to tell our kids; our eyes didn't meet across a
crowded room. But it doesn’t matter: She’s
here, she’s mine, and we’re in love.
Since we met, my online time has been tranquil and productive.
The nascent carpal tunnel syndrome in my right index finger
has eased, thanks to fewer window-closing mouse clicks.
And I’m no longer startled by official-looking warnings,
“Your computer may be infected! Click here to scan!”
No, thank you, I will not click there to scan.
You don't even exist in my world anymore – thanks
to my cool new girlfriend.
My beloved pop-up blocker isn’t superficial. She
doesn’t care if my socks match, where I put the
toothpaste cap, or if I zip into town for milk on Sunday
morning still wearing my fuzzy, footsie pajama jumpsuit
with SpongeBob on the back. And, importantly, she never
tells me – as several ex-girlfriends have –
to “stop living in a fantasy world, freak.”
Like any couple, we have our spats. Sometimes she blocks
pop-up windows that I want – like a help screen
or a newsletter sign-up form. But I take it in stride,
because she’s doing it to protect me. Generous to
a fault, she asks little in return – only that I
don’t uncheck the box on my “Internet Properties”
screen that says, “Enable third-party browser extensions.”
Don’t worry, my love. I won't.
Soon I’ll call my mother and break the news. I
don’t know how she’ll take it. For many years,
she had little to say about my love life. But not long
ago she read something about the Internet in the AARP
Bulletin and phoned with some unsolicited advice. “Please,”
she begged, “don’t fall in love with some
trampy, downloadable software. That kind of girl installs
herself everywhere.”
I hope Mom accepts my relationship, because there’s
nothing I can do about it now. And, quite frankly, there’s
nothing I want to do about it. Because I love you, pop-up
blocker. And I don’t care who knows it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
To celebrate the holidays, Bill Shein is taking
his pop-up blocker to the ballet.
(This column originally appeared in the Berkshire
Eagle newspaper on December 15, 2004).
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