(originally published on Open Salon, February 10, 2011)
Did you ever have a crush on a guy who was just too good looking to be trusted? One who was just a little too conscious of his looks? One who possessed an effortless cool that probably required quite bit of effort? And yet, you couldn’t help but blush when he looked your way, because well, shoot, he’s awfully cute; and gosh, he has a way of making a girl feel like she’s the only one in the room; and gee, a little harmless flirtation never hurt anyone; and what? Who, me? Aw shucks. Giggle.
I know. Me too.
But hanging out with one of those guys, my friends, is the sure road to heartbreak. Eventually you’re going to find out that the package is too good to be true; that he relies on his looks too much, that his charm is only skin deep. You are going to find out that he is not all that he is cracked up to be. And then you will have wasted your time and your poor tender heart only to wish you had said yes to the cute guy from Ohio who didn’t care who designed his shoes and who didn’t have more hair products in his bathroom than you do.
Sigh.
My affair with Steve Jobs was just like that. Or rather, that was how my reluctant love affair with anything adorned by a cutely bitten Apple started out.
It all began with the iPhone. It was offered to me by my husband in a genius I’m-sorry-I-just-bought-a-motorcycle-but-maybe-this-shiny-Apple-will-get-me-out-of-the-doghouse move, and my first impression was, “Nice try.” I was a little miffed that he’d spent the money. I did not need bells and whistles. I already wasted too much time online.
But wow. It was so pretty. I mean really gorgeous. I mean, if it vibrated a little harder, my husband would be out of a job.
Just kidding, of course. But by the end of a couple of weeks, I was in love. I had thought that phone was just another pretty face destined to disappoint me with its shallowness. But no. It was better than I thought a phone could ever be. True love at last.
But soon, that little phone wasn’t enough, and I moved on to the MacBook. I knew that my novel lived inside one of those slim, silver beauties and not in the wonky old PC on my kitchen counter. Surely the constant virus scans and ugly interface were thwarting my creativity. It suddenly became critical that I spend twice as much on a laptop (never mind that I didn’t need it for much other than word processing and web browsing) as I strictly “needed” to.
Oh, needs. I do have needs. By the time the iPad was released, though, I had my guard up. On a trip to the Apple store, I flirted with poked around on one for a few minutes. “Meh.” I pronounced. All style and no substance. I would not lose my heart again so easily.
Until my boss said, “I have some iPads for department use. You interested?”
I know what you are thinking. I should have said no. But I went in with both eyes open. I took that pretty little pad home and I loaded books onto it. I downloaded free apps and synched my music and mail. And I said, “Meh.” Sure, it was nice to have one for a little while, but my resistance was perfected. It did not, like its predecessors, wend its way into my heart. I didn’t even bother to buy a case for it.
So when the email came from IT asking me to turn it back in after the trial period, I shook it off. “Meh,” I said. I convinced myself that the only thing I needed it for was reading. Christmas was coming, so I told my enablerhusband that I might like a nice Kindle or Nook to take its place. Nothing fancy.
But you know what he did, don’t you?
So on Christmas day, I pledged my eternal love to my very own iPad. Suddenly its beauty became more exquisite, its utility more indispensable. I paid good money for apps. I bought a case. Now that I knew it was mine forever, I could love it the way it deserved to be loved.
Plus, my husband just got his third motorcycle, so fair’s fair.
Did you ever have a crush on a guy who was just too good looking to be trusted? One who was just a little too conscious of his looks? One who possessed an effortless cool that probably required quite bit of effort? And yet, you couldn’t help but blush when he looked your way, because well, shoot, he’s awfully cute; and gosh, he has a way of making a girl feel like she’s the only one in the room; and gee, a little harmless flirtation never hurt anyone; and what? Who, me? Aw shucks. Giggle.
I know. Me too.
But hanging out with one of those guys, my friends, is the sure road to heartbreak. Eventually you’re going to find out that the package is too good to be true; that he relies on his looks too much, that his charm is only skin deep. You are going to find out that he is not all that he is cracked up to be. And then you will have wasted your time and your poor tender heart only to wish you had said yes to the cute guy from Ohio who didn’t care who designed his shoes and who didn’t have more hair products in his bathroom than you do.
Sigh.
My affair with Steve Jobs was just like that. Or rather, that was how my reluctant love affair with anything adorned by a cutely bitten Apple started out.
It all began with the iPhone. It was offered to me by my husband in a genius I’m-sorry-I-just-bought-a-motorcycle-but-maybe-this-shiny-Apple-will-get-me-out-of-the-doghouse move, and my first impression was, “Nice try.” I was a little miffed that he’d spent the money. I did not need bells and whistles. I already wasted too much time online.
But wow. It was so pretty. I mean really gorgeous. I mean, if it vibrated a little harder, my husband would be out of a job.
Just kidding, of course. But by the end of a couple of weeks, I was in love. I had thought that phone was just another pretty face destined to disappoint me with its shallowness. But no. It was better than I thought a phone could ever be. True love at last.
But soon, that little phone wasn’t enough, and I moved on to the MacBook. I knew that my novel lived inside one of those slim, silver beauties and not in the wonky old PC on my kitchen counter. Surely the constant virus scans and ugly interface were thwarting my creativity. It suddenly became critical that I spend twice as much on a laptop (never mind that I didn’t need it for much other than word processing and web browsing) as I strictly “needed” to.
Oh, needs. I do have needs. By the time the iPad was released, though, I had my guard up. On a trip to the Apple store, I flirted with poked around on one for a few minutes. “Meh.” I pronounced. All style and no substance. I would not lose my heart again so easily.
Until my boss said, “I have some iPads for department use. You interested?”
I know what you are thinking. I should have said no. But I went in with both eyes open. I took that pretty little pad home and I loaded books onto it. I downloaded free apps and synched my music and mail. And I said, “Meh.” Sure, it was nice to have one for a little while, but my resistance was perfected. It did not, like its predecessors, wend its way into my heart. I didn’t even bother to buy a case for it.
So when the email came from IT asking me to turn it back in after the trial period, I shook it off. “Meh,” I said. I convinced myself that the only thing I needed it for was reading. Christmas was coming, so I told my enablerhusband that I might like a nice Kindle or Nook to take its place. Nothing fancy.
But you know what he did, don’t you?
So on Christmas day, I pledged my eternal love to my very own iPad. Suddenly its beauty became more exquisite, its utility more indispensable. I paid good money for apps. I bought a case. Now that I knew it was mine forever, I could love it the way it deserved to be loved.
Plus, my husband just got his third motorcycle, so fair’s fair.