Do you all remember the incident last year when I went to smack a fly away (damn you Australia and your fly epidemic, you lot are cursed!) thus knocking a fresh glass of Shiraz all over my very beautiful and very SWITCHED ON laptop. It coughed, it spluttered, it died. Fuck. A writer with no computer is much like a daddy long legs with all his venom and no means with which to release it on the world. In fact, it is EXACTLY like that! Do you read Obnoxious Owl? It’s WELL venomous man.
Now this show down happened in February…that’s like 1, 2, 3, 4 … fucking 9 months with no computer! I’ve been banging out all my magazine submissions, blog posts, emails via some donkey tech computer that I’m pretty sure Noah had his excel spreadsheet on when he was counting the animals onto his ark.
So after getting trips abroad, new kicks, moving house outta the way…I finally bit the bullet and purchased a new machine. This is where shit started confusing the hell out of me. The crew I hang with are the creative types, you know…photographers/’DJ’s/graphic designers blah di blah…the usual. They all pretty much have sex with their Apple Macs. No sorry…they make sweet sweet love to the fucking things. And who can blame them really because aesthetically, Mac is pretty sexy I will admit. The sleek silver casing and the little lit up apple definitely cause a bit of precipitation in my knickers. I am after all, female, and we like things pretty. Not to mention the non virus issue…which I’ll confess, is something to think about.
My best mate Beck (who I suspect works for Apple on the sly) is married to her Macbook Pro. She is ALWAYS tryna convert me to the fruity side. Showing me all its party tricks and gimmicks and momentarily, I do get drawn in by the sparkly lights and technological wonderment. Beck, however, is a photographer. She uses all the gizmos and cool shit and other such snappy things on the reg which is why I totes understand why her Mac is her child.
So I went ahead and bought a Sony VAIO. Here’s the thing…I like PC. I like how it’s always kind of temperamental and neurotic…a bit like a writer! I’m not some sleek, modern creative. I’m that neurotic, always a little ‘crazy’ kooky words worth type. I just feel like Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty woman’ when she walks into that boutique still in her whore attire and the shop assistants look at her as if she pissed on their kids when I run my ghetto manicured hands over the keys of anything Apple. I’m also no fucking Shakespeare…especially when I always say ‘fucking’ and write about taking it up the ass. It sorta makes sense that I embrace anything that may contain a virus really. I fancy myself as an eccentric Woody Allen type that hasn’t quite gotten around to upgrading their gadgets.
I predict that no doubt me and the glowing fruit will one day embrace, but not quite yet. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to ctrl+alt+dlt and go make a cup of tea while I wait for this to load.