Saturday, May 14, 2011
Hello, I'm a Mac.
Oh sure, I bought into the hype. PC was John Hodgman. Mac was that, Drew Barrymore's boyfriend, guy. But, as it turns out, I am deeply in love with John Hodgman, and this whole Mac relationship is not working out for me.
White machine, I thought I loved you. When you lit right up and sent me skipping along holding hands with your garage band and your nifty little icons, we were a charming couple. You drew me to you like a cute pair of t-strapped mary-janes, while I was the aged hag who thought she could look good in you. Never mind that I will wear heels perhaps twice more in my life. I have, maybe, one more wedding to attend (I'm talking to you, Zack) and maybe one sexy party somewhere, hosted by people I have not yet met. Other than that, I'm wearing Bjorn, or something with arch support.
So PC, you're the man for me. For one thing, I like it that I know where you've put my files, neatly placed in folders, like slippers, that I understand and that are right there for me, under the bed. You don't hide them down some one-way hall of mirrors in which every reflection of me is fat and unwieldy. No, I like the way you give it to me straight PC, just the way I like it, missionary style.
I enjoyed you, Photo Booth, but really, how many pictures can you take of yourself, sitting in front of your computer? Good hair days, bad hair days, its still just you, looking back at you, while you look back...at you.
I was glamored by all the graphic-y, flier, printed media possibilities, but I've never used any of it, not really. If I were nine, I'd make myself some menus and pass them out to my family. Ditto for garage band; I'd make myself a garage band and record it on garage band.
The cocksuckery of Itunes I can get on my PC. So, Mac, I'm getting a PC to go down on me.
Mac, you've been a good lay. I enjoyed our drunken, groping times together, me trying to get you to love me, while really you just had your eye on that slut, the IPAD. You took my $1499 and we had a few high nights together, but then you OD'd and I had to say goodbye to all my memory. You just left me that note with the sad little hard drive face on it. Nothing more.
Like all relationships we got back together one more time. I nursed you, and suppressing my anger and disillusionment, I gave you a new hard drive. We limped once more around the sun.
Sadly, your habits are ones I can't live with. You talk fast, but you walk slow. You eat too much and then you purge. You don't play nicely with my other electronics.
We have to say good-bye. PC has made me a cheaper, more boring offer I can't refuse, and its a long term commitment. Don't worry, I'll still be wearing my Mary-Janes for you, my little Iphone minx, but I know John Hodgman wont mind.