This is going to be a Yelling Post. It is that time of the month, and I am sorry if that is T.M.I. but I feel that I should give you fair warning.
First of all, I would like to yell at the veteran bloggers out there who either A.) did not warn me that there is some kind of summer slump that completely decimates your number of readers, or 2.) did not tell me that the quality of my writing has plummeted so deeply that I am shedding fans faster than Wonderbutt can pee all over my new furniture.
Secondly, I am yelling at Apple. Or Adobe. Or all technology companies. To Flash or not to Flash. I don’t care. But come up with a friggin’ consensus. Because of your shenanigans, I have to bring my 10 million pound laptop to my conference in Cambridge next week.
Which leads to me airline companies. It’s not all of you. Just the one that I happen to be flying tomorrow that charges for people to check one bag. I would say your name, but you will have my life and, more importantly, my luggage in your hands tomorrow. You took away my meals. You took away my free wings and my tour of the cockpit. And now you want me to pay to check one suitcase!!!!!!! Which I would not have to bring if I did not have to bring my laptop. Because I was planning to bring my super lite iPad.
My laptop not only weighs 10 million pounds, but it is antiquated. Plus, I dropped it a couple of years ago, and the back button has never been the same. But, now I have to bring the laptop because my conference at Harvard requires access to “Flash-enabled” websites. Which means my brilliant idea of taking one personal item and a carry-on is out the window. Because I HATE dragging a Bunch of Stuff with me when I have to change planes – and a 10 million pound laptop plus a full carry-on falls within my definition of a Bunch of Stuff.
So, now I must check a bag. And pay $25 for that checked bag. Going and coming. And they will probably lose it. And then I will be stuck at Harvard with an antique laptop and no clean underwear. And everyone at Harvard will laugh at me. Because of the horribly old laptop. They won’t know about the underwear. I hope.
My iPad has started burping music.
I downloaded iOS 5, being eager to attempt “mirroring” my iPad on our T.V.
Ever since the new download, the iPad has worked flawlessly, except for an infrequent sound that I can seriously only describe it as a musical burp.
The first time it happened, I thought I had accidentally hit the iPod icon on my iPad. But it has happened several times now, and since there is no reason that I should suddenly be quite that inept, I’m thinking my iPad is either feeling gassy or attempting to communicate with me.
What? Are you suggesting that is an incredible leap of logic? What reasonable explanation do you have for this phenomena?
With the introduction of the Siri app on the iPhone 4s, I honestly don’t think it’s reaching too far to suspect that my iPad is going rogue and trying to speak to me on its own. I’m not sure what it would be trying to tell me, but it could be something like, “Tell Wonderbutt to stop trying to lick my screen.”
If you think that’s too far-fetched (the iPad conversing with me part; you should all know, by now, that Wonderbutt is perfectly capable and more than a little prone to licking whatever he feels like), listen to what happened the other day:
Our Apple T.V. Box was rebooting (apparently it decided to upgrade itself when I turned it on). Wonderbutt was happily bullying Mrs. P.I.B. by stealing the orange Kong sphere and then literally rubbing it in her face. When the Apple logo appeared on the screen, Wonderbutt suddenly froze. He dropped the ball, and raced to the T.V., flattened his already smushed-in face against the screen, and tried to bite the apple.
I kid you not. Right where there is a bite already taken out of the apple, Wonderbutt gnashed his teeth. Dimples and I fell on the floor laughing.
Cap’n Firepants raced to save his T.V.
Now, I’m not telling this story to give you more proof of Wonderbutt’s adorable insanity. I’m thinking Wonderbutt suspects something. He knows Apple is trying to take over the world and that he, Wonderbutt, is the only one who can save us from this evil menace. Especially since his idiot family keeps buying iStuff.
So, I’m becoming a bit more wary of my burping iPad, which Wonderbutt would also gleefully chomp if I left it in his vicinity. I don’t believe in coincidence. The iPad, the Apple T.V., even Big Mean Kitty; it’s all beginning to make sense. From now on, the only operating system that gets upgraded is my own.
After I dated my Cap’n Firepants for a year, I started expecting a ring. I even knew how he would pop the question. We would go back to Fredericksburg, where we had gone on one of our first dates, and head out to the peach orchard. He would chivalrously offer to pluck the peach tree with the highest branches, leaving its particularly heavily laden neighbor for me to harvest . I would begin collecting peaches when, suddenly, I would spot, dangling delectably from one of the branches, a gorgeous engagement ring. And the Cap’n would get on his knees and proclaim his everlasting love.
That didn’t happen. Oh, the peach pluckin’ occurred. Just not the ring gathering portion of my daydream.
Six months later, it was Christmas time. And now I was really certain this would be the moment. I spotted a nicely wrapped package under the tree, and reasoned that, though it was far too large to be a ring box, he would certainly want to surprise me, thus placing it in a larger box. Not exactly original, but still romantic.
It was a cell phone. Practical. Not romantic. Very thoughtful, of course, since he was concerned about my safety in the somewhat antiquated jalopy I was driving at the time.
I said, “Thank you.” I think most women reading this post know that is not whatimeant2say.
Fast forward into our marriage. (He did eventually pop the question, though not in quite the elaborate manner I had pictured.) Cap’n Firepants, unlike most men, remembers every special occasion with a carefully chosen card and somewhat thoughtful gift. Things started to get a little too generic, though. One day, I tell him that I would be fine without the gift, but I would be thrilled if he would write something in his own words on a card. On the next occasion, he gave me a particularly elaborate card.
On the inside he wrote, “I really mean everything this card says.” Not quite the flowery words I was requesting.
A few years later, the Cap’n, who had apparently forgotten my blatant lack of gratitude the first time, took the chance again of giving me a phone I didn’t ask for.
But this time, it was an iPhone. And I learned to like it real fast. It was almost better than a diamond ring.
I liked the iPhone so much that I bought myself an iPad. By that point, I was so giddy with gadgets, I didn’t even care that we did nothing special on our ten-year anniversary.
I saw Cap’n Firepants looking wistfully at my iPad, and gave him my blessing when the new one was unveiled. I was a little jealous that he would have the camera and the Smartcover, but I figured I could hold off until iPad 3 rolled around. Cap’n Firepants, in his usual meandering manner, didn’t order the iPad 2 right away, however.
One night, he finally admitted that he had broken down and ordered one. Then, he casually stated that he had ordered two of them – one for me, too. We were at a bar, and I leapt out of my bar stool and commenced to produce a very public PDA. Cap’n Firepants loves getting himself a little DA, but not so much the P part. Nevertheless, I think he was satisfied by my reception of his gift.
And now, my birthday is coming up. I asked for an iPhone 5. Surprise and/or other romantic trappings not necessary.
Although it would be really, really perfect if I could stream The Princess Bride from Netflix on my new, very practical gift.