Embracing The Cloud
Erin McAuliffe | Wednesday, March 18, 2015
The sun is shining. People are playing quad sports. Bikes are again endangering your walks to class. But most importantly, the permacloud is gone.
With the permacloud eliminated, there remains only one cloud to hinder my spirits and functionality: The Cloud.
I was making a mix tape/CD for a friend recently when I realized my limited knowledge of the technology/black hole. I scrambled to authorize my old laptop’s iTunes, as I have yet to figure how to download my external hardrive to my new computer after three months. I pulled up playlists on Spotify on the newer computer. I flipped through CDs with my toes. After hours of back-breaking work, I burnt the heartfelt creation and proudly presented it to play in the car — only to be met with silence. As my friend reciprocated my attempt at music sharing with a clean, easily accessible “Dropbox” playlist, I realized it was time for me to embrace The Cloud.
For someone with 5,799 unread emails on her phone currently, it was going to be a big leap. My dad has tried to get me on The Cloud before, to which I normally respond with, “That’s such a dad move. I don’t need it. It will also lead The Illuminati to me.”
Well, what a time to be alive because dads, The Illuminati and The Cloud are in vogue.
Taking on the role of scene editor at The Observer has gifted me with two more email accounts to check, so basically if I don’t get my life together soon, my unread email count will be unmanageable. Well, more unmanageable than 5,799 unread emails already are.
So far, my adoption of The Cloud lyfestyle has been positive. Unlike organic clouds, The Cloud works to light the way to a more organized, clear desktop where you can actually see the picture of your spring break sunset wallpaper. I am happy to say my silver Mac has a cloud lining.
I succeeded at putting some pictures on Dropbox when I realized I didn’t have a USB thumb drive — innovation at its finest. I created a Google virtual invite to an event I made, which automatically syncs to someone’s calendar and hopefully guilts people into hanging out with me. And I got to an unread email count of 5,801 during the time I’ve spent writing this.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.