Disconnect

Mac Black is dying.

My awesome little computer, my antique, the First Computer I Ever Loved, isn't working right now. We suspect it's the power supply, the nifty little YoYo that connected Mac Black to the wall and charged up the battery. Last night Jethro got out the biggest f****ing screwdriver I've ever seen and mercilessly pried apart the YoYo, sending bits of plastic with the little Apple logo all over my desk. I shivered.

He thinks he can save it. It'll take massive modification but he figures he'll fix it so it can still be plugged into the wall. I won't be able to unplug it and cart it all over the house anymore. This makes me quite sad because I loved being completely mobile. I could work or blog or fix up pictures anywhere. My creativity wasn't tied to my desk. I don't care though- I just want my Mac Black back!

It's not the perfect computer. It's kinda heavy, and being the 1999 or 2000 model, ridiculously old in the world of computers. The screen has been getting darker and more dull as time goes on. And it's pretty darn slooooooow. But I love it! It has a cool two tone texture and amber keys. The case slopes down to a soft curve at the front so that I rest my delicate wrists on a smooth comfortable surface. I know where everything is. It's mine.

Jethro bought it for me from one of his colleagues in October of 2005. I resisted. I hated computers. "It's not a computer," he rebuffed, "it's a MAC." He'd been using Macs for years in the studio and finally got one for home. It was nice. Pretty. Slick. I didn't give a crap though because I'd just freshly fired myself as his secretary and vowed to never use a computer again. But my smart husband didn't like what was going on with my mental state. "You need to write. If you don't have a good computer you're not going to write." So he brought the little Mac home and plugged it in and lured me to it. And now here we are.

We are a totally Mac freak family. There are three in our house right now. There's one at my mother's house, one at my mother-in-law's house, and like, four or five or twenty at the studio. I don't know. That's the studio's business. Put it this way- when Jethro went to buy his new MacBook they gave him a discount. They damn well better. Don't kid yourself, the recording studio biz is all Mac. They want to actually get stuff done instead of fart around fixing computers up. I admit that we often feel like a minority, in a world where a different language is spoken, with odd words like "virus" and "spyware" and "bios update" and "driver patches" and the word that I find most disturbing in the universe- "microsoft". How can that word ever denote something good???? Sometimes it's hard being Mac but I don't care. I am never going back.

Today I'm typing this on his brand spankin new MacBook. People, meet Mac White. Mac White and I aren't totally in love yet. Jethro's a bit of a brat with stuff like this- he always gets his way. He slid this one past me with a two part attack: first, he justified the purchase because he can edit music with it. He's got ProTools on it and two little heavy expensive looking speakers, and now he doesn't have to drive to the studio to work. "All part of the plan, baby," he croons. "I'm looking ahead. For when we cut outta town and live in the country." You just know I'm not gonna argue with that. His second attack was the bribe. "This is just my entry level MacBook," he assures me. "When I can afford the MacBookPro (that would be the one in the brushed steel finish which costs...a lot of f****ing cash) then you can have this one when yours cacks."

Mac White is beeyootiful. Gorgeous. Shiny, white, elegant, like a minimalist pacifist angel who could slickly and cleanly end the world, it is that powerful, but benevolent, and in fact quite friendly and possibly even fun. Mac White here is the mate you always imagined you could have...if only you were cleaner and smarter and more deserving.

Mac White was built for somebody else. The screen is smaller and I swear everything on it is smaller. I feel like I have to squint. There's no YoYo to plug it in. Instead there's a little square with slick rounded corners and these two odd little legs that pop out, which have no purpose I can see but of course, Mac White is too smart for me and I may simply just not understand.

Mac White is hurting me. The front edge is perfectly flat and perfectly square. It rubs my wrists. I hate it. Jethro is big. When he types on Mac White, the heels of his big hard hands rest on the square edge. He does not feel my pain. I resent Mac White.

I want to love you, Mac White, I really do. You just don't know how much I long to love you. I could ease the pain of losing Mac Black some day if I knew you would be there for me and we could have a brilliant working relationship. You're gorgeous and everything...but I just don't know if you're right for me.

It looks like someday we'll have to come to a few agreements and spend the time getting to know each other, but I just don't know if we're ever going to bond. You might always be my heartbroken rebound computer.

I want my portly, tubby, slow little old Mac Black back.










...it's frustration day all around. My email is all screwed up because the Faceless Giant Corp that does the email serving thing has decided to let MSN take care of it...and I f****ing HATE MSN. Got that? Got that search robots? I HATE MSN. We called around for a new power supply but apparently "vintage" is only desirable in cars and the guy at Apple told us to look on eBay. Gah!!!! And I hate MSN. Also, I can't find my glasses and I'm squinting at the screen.

I want my Mac Black. I cannot believe that ME of all people is so distraught over this. Me, who figured in 1987 that there was no point in taking any data classes in high school cuz this whole computer thing was gonna blow over and I'd just type my stories up on a typewriter after writing with a pen, and then go bug off and take my horse for a ride. Yeah. Computers are temporary, man, but horses are forever. Don't you forget it.