But in the past week I have bought four, that’s right, four new shirts that are all nice and clean and have distinct colors and only the number of holes appropriate to fit over my current number of arms (two), heads (one), and waists (one). I am not entering an opinion into how many holes that is in the shirt because I’ve seen people burned on the whole “how many holes does a straw have” question and I don’t want that kind of trouble for myself. And yes, technically, they are all from the same store from which I also get peanut butter and wet-wipes for cleaning the car’s dashboard. It doesn’t matter. These are still legitimate and correctly formed shirts. And I can retire some of the shirts that have weird things like pairs of puncture holes along the neckline, as if the shirt had been attacked by vampire cargo pants. Also yes, I am looking for some newer, less-worn-out cargo pants. I have a great number of goods that need transport to and from remote climes and I don’t know a better place to put my camera when I’m on a roller coaster than in a cargo pant side pocket.
I’m not upset that we’re having a couple days of warm weather after getting a half-foot of snow. Warmer weather is fine. It’s not warm enough, but I haven’t felt warm enough since I last lived in Singapore. It helps. It’s just that when it did snow, I was careful to go and shovel the entire sidewalk, its whole width, nice and down to the cement so that multiple people could pass one another safely on a bone-dry, ice-free surface. And now all these other houses on the block, sidewalks cleared by scalawags who just dug a little bit out or maybe let pedestrians tramp down a social trail through the snow, have sidewalks that are just as cleared. How am I supposed to look out the second-floor window and feel smugly superior to everyone around me if everyone else got their weather-clearing work done by more weather? Oh, yeah, also, good that the block is navigable and safe again. But my smugness.
Despite all the attempts by friends to help, my new computer arrived and I got it unboxed and everything. I wasn’t sure if I should unbox it without taking photographs but then I remembered I have never looked at any unboxing photograph, my own or anyone else’s, and neither has anybody else. Also I think my camera was eaten by that tangle of wires exposed when we replaced the TV set. It has been a season of consumer electronics suddenly breaking around here and I’m not looking forward to what summer has to bring. My guess: the oven declaring it’s done with this “making stuff more warm” job and going into business as a breakdancing instructor. This will be inconvenient for us, since we often like to eat food that’s more warm. But it will save the neighborhood rec center, so there’s that.
My new computer is lighter than the old, and thinner too. That’s just what people look for in laptops. I thought my old one was respectably light and sleek, but in comparison, it’s a kitchen appliance. The new computer is made of modestly compressed yawns encased in soap-bubble foam. It’s prone to floating as much as two inches in the air above the USB cooling fan base that I have, and I lost the power cord for that like six years ago. Often it’ll slide down the table a couple inches when I give it a heavy glance. I’m keeping it on a power cord so it stays tethered, and when it gets back to window-opening season I’m going to attach a kite tail and see how high I can sail it over Ralph W Crego Park.
It’s not the newest model MacBook Pro. I bought refurbished. I’ve gotten into that habit, on the grounds that the extraction of the metals needed for electronics is so brutal to people and the environment, and the actual assembly of these parts is no less foul, that it’s irresponsible to require more new stuff than necessary. You see, unlike most people, I like turning everyday actions into smug superiority. Also it’s cheaper and so am I.
This model MacBook Pro doesn’t have the name MacBook Pro on it. Nor the name Apple anywhere I noticed. (I didn’t check by the vental fin, as I don’t wish to offend its modesty and I don’t need to check that unless I want to breed it.) This is part of the minimalist design Apple’s gone crazy for. The current model MacBook Pro, besides not having the product name on it anywhere, also does without keys, a screen, any plugs, a touchpad, a box, or any physical existence. You just go to the Apple-authorized retailer, give them some money, and return home to ponder the nature of computing and what the networked world is like. It’s not the best hardware for gaming, but the three-year AppleCare extended warranty for your wholly imagined computer is a very reasonable $49.99. I’m hoping to pay for that with the sound of a jingling bag of quarters I can use for pinball league later. Yes, I know, you’re calling that a scam, but wouldn’t you like to be in Apple’s position right now? I understand if you say no because you have hay fever and don’t know what the pollen count is at Apple Master Command. But if you don’t, then, well?
Since getting it up and running I’ve spent a lovely week setting options on things. That’s the good part of a new computer, going around and breaking up with old typefaces and installing new ones and figuring out what window sizes just work for stuff anymore. That last is a Mac thing. Experience with coworkers suggests that Windows users think whatever program they’re using has to use up the whole screen. Of all the human behaviors I have encountered this is the one I understand the least. It’s at least eight percent more baffling than how the house down the street throws out a sofa every two weeks and how someone else apparently takes it. You know a house like that, and you don’t understand it. How can I understand this? Anyway I’m thinking I could make my fortune by selling cheap disposable computers which do nothing but let buyers set options on things. Once they’ve got it set, they throw the finished computer out and start again. If we can retail these for like thirty bucks I bet it’ll be a hit.
The dangerous part of this is I have an excuse to fall behind my Internet social obligations now. Normally I’m just awful. Somewhere along the line I got to thinking, you know, if I answer that e-mail they’re just going to answer back and I’ll be right where I started, so why not stay there? This is fine for trivial stuff like work e-mails but it hurts hanging out with people I know because I have common interests or stuff. And now? People can’t fault me for not writing back when I’m going through the trouble of setting up stuff to write back. I could probably milk this one for months while people gradually forget I even exist. And then where will I be when I send out an urgent e-mail warning about the oven having gone off on its own? Ignored, correctly. It’s no fair, if suffering the obviously foreseeable direct consequences of my own freely made choices is no fair.