I am a lifelong Windows person, despite the clever TV spots about the stylish Mac guy vs the pathetic PC dude. Daughter has also done what she could to sway me over from the dark side of GatesWorld to the light and lively land of funky Apple users. There are no viruses, she promised, no labyrinthine procedures to unlock simple commands, no equipment seizures, no tech support calls to foreign lands. Through it all I was characteristically resistant, similar to how I maintained for a long time that ceiling fans were a fad. Sometimes I remind myself of my late maternal grandfather, who back in the fifties predicted that television would never catch on. This as he sat glued in front of the “professional” wrestling station until it signed off for the night. I don’t mind being proven wrong; I just wish I didn’t take so long to admit it.
So it comes to pass that I am now the owner of a shiny new MacBook Pro. In a previous entry I wrote about doing battle with Toshiba over a laptop manufacturer’s defect they refused to acknowledge or repair. After paying to get it rectified on my own, the exact same thing happened again only two months later. Everyone has their own point of no return, and that incident was mine. Ding ding ding! I agree that many people would realize there were sharks in the water after having an arm gnawed off. My learning curve seems to require both arms.
Daughter and I met in the city on Monday at the West 14th Street Apple store, one of the sleek locations in the Big Apple Apple arsenal. It is a glass monolith that rises above the corner of 14th Street and 9th Avenue, like a harbinger of a future where buildings are transparent and worlds exist alongside each other on separate but visible planes. Even the wide steps of the curving spiral staircases inside are see-through. It’s as if all tangible points reflect the brand’s claim to transparency and ease of use. The Mac mantra is that their products are user friendly and intuitive. The PC platform must be learned; Mac can be felt. Maybe for graphic artists, I thought, and people who grew up with computers in their kindergartens. Not for midlife diehard Windows wonks like me. Right? Allow me to report firsthand that they are not blowing smoke up anyone’s ass. They’re dead right.
When you first walk in, you see the swarm of humanity waiting for iPads that haven’t been released yet. Then there’s the iPod gallery. Along the far glass wall on a ledge sits a row of MacBook laptops. A young and contagiously upbeat salesperson asks which one you’d like — there are only six to choose from — and which options you want. You make your choice and are walked over to a long counter in the center that resembles a wide bar with stools. By the time you are seated, another smiling Apple worker has placed your new Mac on the counter in front of you. The two of them watch you open the box and remove the computer from its protective wrapping. They show you how to turn it on, and explain how it’s different from the PC on which you’ve been living your life.
As a demonstration, they have you open Safari (the web browser) and pick a YouTube video. A notice pops up that you will need Adobe Flash Player to view this video; would you like it? You click yes and it’s installed; the video begins to play. That’s a HUGE difference. Whereas with Windows you have to search for what you need, Mac tells you, and then offers to do it. It’s like the computer is saying, “Go have a burger while I pump your gas and wash your car.”
Forty minutes after entering the store, we were back outside on 14th Street with a list of free workshops available at all locations. We headed east to Union Square, my new Mac slung like a backpack behind Daughter’s shoulders. She looked as proud of me as I was so long ago when she took her first steps. Except this time I’m the one who’s off and running.
Pics from our trip to Tucson provide Subtle Color
southwest still life
ted degrazia mosaic mural, gallery in the sun
degrazia work studio
weather