The Apple Diaries. Chapter 1: It Begins

Somewhere between 2001 and today I stopped being a twelve year old. As painful a revelation as that is to me, it’s true, and it took my first week at Apple to pound that point home. I know. HARSH. But now it’s week two. I’m wiser, more comfortably dressed, and slightly less hung over. All of which are necessities. Just because I get to work at the Disney World of I.T. jobs doesn’t mean it’s all Epcot Center and the Mad Hatters Tea cups. Hell, out of 12 days total, 2 at least were totally the Hall of Presidents and both the fucking Roosevelts were out of order. I am employed though, at a job I think I could come to seriously enjoy, and my boss’s boss’s boss wears the same pair of flip flops I do everyday.

Here are some other things I’ve noticed:

Geeks are to the 2000 oughts what Hippies were to the sixties. Smelly and prolific. Axe is the new petulie. Bad Coffee is the new hash.

Apple doesn’t respect it’s customers as much as it thinks it does. Everything they sell, while uber functional and aesthetically pleasing is weirdly…kid safe. No one has ever stubbed a toe, scratched a forearm, or electrocuted themselves on any Apple merchandise ever. This unsettles me for some reason. I’m half hoping that science will find a direct link between IMacs and cancer or herpes or hangnails or ANYTHING ugly enough to balance out how hip and cute and user friendly the Apple Universe is.

I like computers. Not as much as I used to. But I still think the digital world is pretty bitchin’. I don’t Date it though. C’mon three dudes in my class, the world is a big and beautiful place and if you’d spend a little more time brushing your teeth and a little less accumulating experience points there’s a pretty good chance you could get to see some pretty cool things. Like boobies.

I’m feeling it all out though. I haven’t really given a shit about much of anything for the last year or so and, when you’ve made a lifestyle out of rolling with the punches, to finally feel like your opinions are more than humorous. I want to do well and that feeling is like a giant flashlight on the roach nests of angst I’ve got secreted away in my brain. I never really new they were there in the first place but they are scattering and hopefully the filthy things will be in my neighbor’s yard by sundown.