December, 1999
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Twas the night before New Year's
When all through the house,
Not a computer was whirring,
Not even a mouse.
The updates were run on all the software,
For fear the millennium soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Pokemon danced in their heads.
And hubby in his jammies and I in my cap
Had decided we?d sleep through this Y2K crap.
When out in the office there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Opening Windows I clicked like a flash,
Logged into my bank site, transferred all the cash.
The screen like a TV all covered with snow
Gave the office a luster of bluish-white glow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a two, and three zeroes -- a four-digit year!
With a little print driver so lively and quick;
I knew in a moment it must be St. Fix.
More rapid than WinZip his programs they came.
And whistles and bells rang, commanding them by name:
?Go, Adobe! Go Netscape! Go Lotus and Quicken!
Run, Quick Time! Run, Browser! Run Outlook and Disc Scan!
To be copied to systems beyond the firewall!
Now, cache away, cache away, cache away all!
As little winged toasters on your screensaver do fly,
When they meet with a keystroke, mount to the sky.
So up to the menu the programs they flew,
With a bundle of upgrades, and St. FixesIt, too.
And then in a twinkling, a noise quite inscrutable.
The churning and grinding of each executable.
As I drew back in awe and was turning around,
From the icon St. FixesIt launched with a sound.
He was drawn all in Paint from his head to his foot,
And his pixels were dithered with ashes and soot..
A bundle of games he had flung on his back,
All the extras that might come for free on a Mac.
His flash-dot-gif twinkled! His jpeg how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.
His browser-safe colors limited the glow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
A truncated pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it configured his head like a wreath.
He had a bitmap for his round little belly,
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right virtual elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a tweak to the Pentium.
Soon we would be ready for the new millennium.
He spoke not to Word, but went straight to the Works,
And fixed all the programs, then turned from his search.
And pointing his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod to compliance, he closed.
He sprang to the hard drive with his bells and his whistles
Uploading as fast as a heat-seeking missile.
And the screensaver claimed as it hid him from sight,
?If you?d bought a Mac, all would?ve been right!?
(c) 1999 Catherine Shreve