A Really Good Halloween
Truck or Treat
Recently Apple computers reported record sales of their new iPhone 6 but also made a dramatic gain in the laptop computer market, and the reporter commented on how that was probably due to the increase in college students buying Mac over PC. And why not? Around this time of year there are ads where college students can get a discount or a free iTunes gift certificate (depending on the year or offer) with their purchase. But what about those of us also starting something new? What about us loyal Apple consumers? Where’s our bonus?
I started a new life when I started a new business two years ago. Why is that any different than a college student, heck at least I won’t be drinking and spilling on the keyboard.
Fancy bagel places have punch cards, fancy coffee places reward their frequent drinkers, how about us frequent bloggers, programmers, artists and social media nuts? I have had four laptops, two iMacs, there iPods and two iPhones. Then of course there’s additional hard drives, accessories, software and One on One Memberships. Where’s my love Apple?
It seems that you buy four, you get the fifth one free. Now I’m not greedy, I’ll leave it up to them as to what’s free—but let’s be sure it’s a device of some kind. I don’t think some bejeweled iPhone case is gonna reward my loyalty and devotion.
Now don’t get me wrong Mr. Cook, I’m a big Apple fan. I want you to know that I have and always will endorse your products. And I will gladly retract this blog if you found it offensive, upon receipt of my new Macbook Pro, as well as write a glowing review. Long Live Mac!
Weekly random thoughts. Since I’m self-employed it’s my version of water cooler talk: no one to talk to so it goes out to cyberspace.
There’s long and short, why isn’t there any medium division?
I wonder how often penguins want to change into sweats?
All over the country people are telling themselves that they’re not going to buy any more candy until next week so they don’t eat it too soon. Again.
If you really made a mountain out of a mole hill wouldn’t the poor moles be squished?
If we didn’t have calendars would you wake up excited thinking it was the weekend?
I painted a mural of trees on my wall so it would always look like I was camping, but then it back-fired on my because it turned out I didn’t have the ingredients to make smores.
I wonder if catfish resent the relation to the finicky felines?
Do they make aspirins for woodpeckers?
It looks the same, the sky, the ground, the trees, ok not really the trees, but it looks the same from inside the glass. But then I was outside. And it was different. It was cold.
Now the problem is that it really wasn’t cold. It was forty-eight degrees. Forty eight degrees in the Midwest in the Spring means that you wear shorts, irrationally but in celebration of the end of the sh*t that is Winter. And yes I capitalize the seasons because they are significant.
I have become a California wuss. I pulled my hands into my sleeves when I should be throwing a football around. The orange beauty of the Fall leaves meant nothing because I hurried my gait and couldn’t appreciate them. My blood has thinned, as I was warned. Or maybe my skin is thinner, I am certainly no longer thick-skinned. All I know is that it’s embarrassing to my former self who is snarling at me from some other time-space where the wind chill is twenty degrees below zero and it really is cold.
Here’s the thing, I didn’t think about it. I knew on the flight from Los Angeles to Chicago the temperature would drop. I was prepared with a sweater for the car ride. But that’s it. I didn’t go outside. I went from the airport to the car to the house. Until the next day. When I wanted to go for a run. That’s when it hit.
The pretty day from inside the glass was so deceptive that I almost wanted to don shorts and a t-shirt. That’s what I usually wear. That’s what I wore two days ago when I was a spoiled brat Southern Californian. That’s what I’ll wear when I go back.
Here’s my fear. That I won’t toughen up in two weeks. That I’ll go back and take it for granted that it’s eighty degrees and sunny in November. That I’ll complain when it drops to sixty and I need a sweatshirt at night. That I’m actually going to turn into one of them that thinks there are seasons in Los Angeles. That I’ll believe that the occasional sprinkling is actually rain. And that when it does truly drop to the forties in the middle of the night I’ll believe that it’s Winter. It’s not. It’s winter.
Nope, won’t let it happen. I can handle this, I spent over forty years living through it. It’s only dropping to thirty-five tonight, where’d I put those electric socks?
“Louis, what’s the matter?”
“All my life, when I was growing up. I didn’t want my mother’s cooking, I wanted peanut butter and jelly. She’d say ‘one day, when I’m gone, you’ll regret it.'”
“My mother said that too.”
“And then when I was older and she’s try to give me another helping, I’d say I don’t want to get fat and she’d say ‘one day, when I’m gone, you’ll regret it.'”
“She wouldn’t give up.”
“No. But it was true. And I missed her cooking for years after she was gone. And now I get here and she can’t cook for me.”