Via Twitter: What about the Mac Mini?

I get lots of interesting questions via Twitter and I want to try to remember to answer them here, too.

I love the quick interactivity of Twitter. Sure, I could enable comments here on the blog. But over the years I’ve found that my brain doesn’t work that way. When I write in a format longer than 140 characters, it’s with the idea that I’ve said what I wanted to say and I just want to move to something new; I feel as if the time I spent responding to comments is time I should have spent writing something new.

(Plus: jerks using comment systems to game Google search results.)

I’ve just had another one of those “I ought to take this to the blog” moments and, probably because I’ve just finished a big ol’ hunk of perfectly-cooked red meat, I’m actually doing something with that thought instead of just moving on.

KEVIN asks:

I honestly have no idea. Mentions of the Mini have been alarmingly absent, even as Apple has been reassuring us all that the largely indifferent upgrades that should have been applied to other machines in the Mac line years ago are coming soon, they promise, for real.

A year or two ago, I would have followed this up with “But I’d be surprised if Apple discontinued the MacMini. It’s not a big revenue-maker, but it’s an important part of the Mac line that keeps the whole ecosystem relevant.

Today? Those things are still true. But Apple’s attitude towards the Mac has DEF-in-itely changed. At this point, I don’t think anyone should count on anything.

It’s weird how quickly some things can change, isn’t it? If Tim Cook were to respond in an interview that “We’ve got WONDERFUL plans for the Mac Mini,” it’d send a chill racing from my brain to my butt. In the past few years, this has meant that they’re doing something radical that totally changes the traditional mission of a Mac and to my eye, it’s never been for the better.

The mission of the Mac Mini has always been to be boring, affordable, and practical. The fact that my Mac Mini is all three of those things instead of just one or two makes it a great computer. If Apple tampers with it, they’ll be cutting off one of the three legs of the stool I sit on.

What It Feels Like, Sometimes

I’m making a ham and cheese sandwich. I finish by squeezing a little hot mustard on it. Bottle just beeps and flashes a numerical code on the label. I take my phone out of my pocket and Google the error code. “Bottle cannot dispense mustard until it connects to a Gulden’s server.” I have no idea why it needs to connect to the Internet to perform such a simple, non-Internet-needing task, but whatever. I check the Wifi. The wifi is down. I fix the wifi. Mustard bottle still won’t dispense, online troubleshooting suggests I perform a soft-reset. I hold down the cap for five seconds until the mustard bottle reboots. Now it needs me to re-authenticate. I set up this mustard bottle ages ago so I don’t remember the password. I fetch it from 1Pass. Bottle authenticates successfully, but it notes that my password hasn’t been changed in a long time and for the safety of my mustard, the bottle won’t allow me to proceed until I create a new one. I create a new password. The bottle completes its startup process, notices there’s a system update, downloads it, installs it, and reboots. Because of the new OS, it needs to authenticate again. I’ve been just standing here the whole time and I can’t remember the password that I created in anger twenty minutes ago. I tap a link on the label to reset my password. I go to my Mac to open the verification email, click the link, and create ANOTHER new password, which I write down this time. I return to the kitchen, the new password fails a few times because the servers’ databases needed five or ten minutes to update each other. Finally, the bottle of mustard completes its startup process and dispenses mustard…all over the kitchen cabinets, because that’s where the bottle happened to be pointed when the firmware discovered a cache file in the system from before the OS update, and processed the leftover “dispense mustard” command that was sitting there.

Frustrated beyond measure, I clean the mess and that’s when I wonder where the ham and cheese sandwich I made an hour ago went. I look outside the window and see a raccoon pushing the last corner of it into its mouth, staring back at me with the expression of someone bingewatching a show they don’t really understand but which they nonetheless find engrossing.

This story is WAY more entertaining than the story of how my morning actually went. But yes, blow by blow, that was the jist.

This is the name of my pain. I want to do something bang-on-simple that ought to take maybe a minute. But it seems like step one of anything is always “diagnose and fix a problem that has inexplicably disabled something that was working fine yesterday, and then solve the problems created by what had to be done to solve the previous problem in the chain.”

It occasionally makes me question why I ever even try to watch something on TV, or write something, or put mustard on anything, ever.

The Doggie Poop Emotional Maturity Test

God  is wise. God knows that it can’t just call us in for a routine performance evaluation because we’d be scared spitless. We wouldn’t show up, unless maybe our job had called an all-morning, all-staff meeting for that day and we needed an excuse.

So instead, He or She or Whatever does these little spot checks on us without warning us in advance. It’s not judgment, H/S/W would like to know how the hardware and software are performing in the real world (which, need I remind, H/S/W also created. God’s Q/A operation alone is a bigger single line-item than Hell’s entire operating budget).

Essentially: if Andy’s goal is to achieve contentment and inner peace through ongoing spiritual refinement, then what level has Andy reached thus far? Continue reading “The Doggie Poop Emotional Maturity Test”

Pivoting the Groundhog

The backyard groundhogs are back! Or, at least, we begin that part of the year where they choose to dine al fresco. It’s never so many of them as to cause the word “infestation” to float through my consciousness and I would like to think that the neighborhood groundhog community respects my integrity too much to ever worry that I’ll pander for votes by railing against the property’s loose borders and promising mass-deportations.

Yesterday I spotted a young adult, in fine fettle, from my kitchen window. Those are the ones who turn into aerodynamic little ground-hugging torpedoes when they run. The youngsters haven’t nailed that movement technique and the oldsters’ hips and shoulders force them to rumble a bit. A groundhog at the peak or his or her powers, however, tracks a straight line and moves like a duck, with all of the frenzied legwork completely hidden under a shell of placid resolve and emphatic velocity.

Perhaps this points to a successful 21st-century rebranding for groundhog? The “ground” part plays, no worries there. But I don’t see the connection between the hog and the creature I see through my office windows. Hogs are snowplow-like in build and method, and Porky Pig is the only one I’ve ever seen raise himself up on his hind legs. Hogs don’t seem alert enough to invest in situational awareness, anyway.

Whereas yesterday, my merely turning on the kitchen faucet from behind a closed window caused the aforementioned specimen to stop what it was doing, raise periscope, and then decide that the treeline represented the better part of valor.

So how did we wind up with “groundhog?” Surely, “Land Duck” is closer to the mark.

If nothing else, a flashy renaming campaign will get marmota monax a burst of fresh publicity. At the top end of expectations, it could encourage people to toss them food and offer them welcome sanctuary in public parks. That’d be a real boon for economically-stressed communities who have parks, but can no longer afford the upkeep on their water features.

I wonder who’s handling their PR? Are they happy with their current representation?

Tom & Dori

I don’t think I ever bought one of Tom Negrino’s books. The law of averages suggests that I must have, solely due to how many of the things he wrote.

(I’ve just gone to my analog library to double-check. Sure enough: one of his introductory JavaScript books. Of course.)

I always envied that kind of skill. His books are bloody good; not a bad apple in the whole barrel. Being a productive and consistently-good tech book author requires a special kind of discipline and focus. It requires good instincts, confidence in your skills, an intuitive understanding of how to deliver the greatest amount of value to a reader, and (oh, damn it, Tom) the ability to write well and not slow down the project by being oh-so-precious.

Tom has those talents in spadefuls. I have them in…

I’m stuck for a way to express the opposite of a spadeful.

Spoonful? Or would I be better off sticking with the spade and persuing the digging angle? “Tom writes as efficiently as a man digging a trench through soft loam, while I seem to approach every page as though I’m sure I must have lost a dime somewhere in all this dirt, and I’m terrified that I’ll just re-bury it unless I proceed with the utmost care and caution”?

Well. There you have it. I imagine Tom would have written “I’m a fast writer. Andy isn’t.” and then boom…on to the next clear, well-written sentence.

Books aren’t my user interface to Tom, anyway. I’ve been lucky enough to know him personally. He’s part of a big extended family of people whom I love dearly and will miss when they’re gone. He’s among the two or three dozen people I looked forward to seeing two or three times a year at Macworld Expo and, post-Macworld, at the many other watering holes where members of our tribe of nerds tend to gather.

Honest, I feel closer to Tom than some members of my actual legal family. I wouldn’t always know ahead of time that Tom would be attending a certain conference, but I always knew it was likely. One of the other members of the family would tell me “Oh, yeah, Tom and Dori are here. I said hi to them in the press room about an hour ago.” And then the ten-year-old kid in me would shout YAYYYY!!! Tom is like the cousin whose presence (and backpack full of Star Wars action figures) makes a boring grownup’s party bearable.

I simply enjoy Tom’s presence. I enjoy catching up with him. I enjoy being at a table in a restaurant with him. I enjoy the simple mutual understanding that this life is naught but a vale of tears and that humankind was born unto trouble just as surely as sparks fly upward, doubly so if one is a book author. I enjoy the shared history and the gentle reminders of the time when Mac users were all considered a slightly odd demographic, and the mild stigma bonded us into a distinct community. If I knew you were a Mac user, I knew that you were at least 80% cool. Tom and Dori are, combined, about 280%.

I also dig “Tom and Dori.” A lot. It’s not a given that two excellent, successful  writers can maintain any kind of relationship, let alone the titanic bond of warmth and mutual admiration that those two have. The phrase “peas and carrots” comes to mind. Their bond has been obvious every time I’ve seen them together and only slightly less so when I’ve seen them separately.

Tom “went public” with his terminal cancer diagnosis in a blog post last year. That’s when I learned that he was born with spina bifida. I think he’s wise enough to have leaned on friends for help and support as needed (and Lord knows he has many friends who’d do anything for him). But part of the grind of a chronic illness, I imagine, is that it’s simply a part of one’s life…part of What Must Be Handled If One Wants To Get On With It. I have the luxury of wallowing in a three-day flu. I know it’ll be completely behind me soon. So it’s a dandy excuse to knock off work and sleep for 52 hours. A person with a chronic illness, however, learns early on to Just Deal. Spina bifida is incompatible with a fulfilling, ambitious, successful, and easy life…so, Tom just got on with it, and had a fulfilling, ambitious, successful life in which his backpack contained several extra bricks that aren’t in yours or mine.

I wonder if that sort of stamina helps him as a writer? “Yes, this sucks. Yes, this is hard. Let’s just deal with it and move forward.” Whereas (and I can’t overstress this point) I’m the sort of writer who pictures himself struggling with his Muse every single moment of every single day. In my mind, I toil away in a freezing garret, alone and unknown, my only luxury a single white lily, which reminds me of the Truth and Beauty which I must achieve with each word, certain that my genius will never be understood or appreciated within my lifetime. That’s rich. Because in reality I am on the sofa with my MacBook on my lap, a remote control in my hand, snack crackers ever at the ready, and the knowledge that the next thing I write will definitely be read by a lot of people and I’ll probably get paid for it.

(The part about the single perfect lily was accurate, however. O beauty! Eternal, yet so fragile! [shed single tear] Why must I be cursed with the ability to understand it in such painful detail, even as pale, tart ugliness is lauded by those around me! Et cetera. By the time I get bored with this line of thought, all of my editors have gone home for the day and there’s not even much of a point to my starting work.)

You might have read that Tom will likely no longer be with us a week from now. As he wrote on his blog, his health has been declining precipitously, with no rescue realistically in sight. He’s decided to end his life on his own terms, and he and Dori have picked a date.

My tendency to overthink things and be oh-so-precious with words is nudging me to speak of Tom’s life as his greatest creative work. “…And now, true to form, Tom is wrapping things up, ending the project when he’s sure it’s complete. He’s content to close the back cover.”

But that’s glib. He’s ending his life because after living with cancer for a long time, his health has declined past the point where the powers of determination, family support, and medical science can push back. His choice isn’t based on “quality of life.” Tom’s life will end soon no matter what he chooses.

I’m pleased for Tom, because he’s clearly made the right choice for himself. I’m grateful that he wrote that blog post; it was a generous gift to his friends and fans. Tom has made his thoughts clear.

I can only speak for myself. It feels like Tom is choosing to “be there” when he dies. Both of my parents died from terminal illnesses. I was present during that final week or two when it was clear that their life forces were slowly tapering down to zero. They were heavily medicated to keep them out of pain.

I don’t fear death as much as I fear the idea of my death being taken out of my hands. I’d hate to die before I can tell everyone I love how much they meant to me. Or without making it clear that certain tasks, goals, principles, and even specific material objects were important and might even have defined me.

(Or without secure-erasing my browser history. Okay. Yes. Fine.)

I’m even more worried about existing as a mere memento of myself…to have a pulse and an active EEG, but little else. Once I’ve lost everything that defines me, plus the potential or the interest to define myself anew, aren’t I just hanging around the fairground after the tents and rides have been packed up and trucked away?

Willy Wonka said (in the good movie) that he wasn’t going to live forever and he didn’t want to, either. This is the man who invented lickable wallpaper. Suffice to say he’s a man of great wisdom.

I seem to be fishtailing around my emotions right now. I regret that Tom won’t be popping up in my life any more. I don’t regret Tom’s decision. I’m saddened that he’s leaving us too soon. I wish I had written and posted this earlier.

But I’m tremendously grateful that I’ve had an opportunity to tell Tom that I treasure him. It’s much more pleasant than writing a eulogy that he’ll never hear.

I feel an evening of deep sighs coming on.

I will pivot this ending with a formal declaration. If I’m hit by a bus or something and my family (not just the legally-recognized ones) has gathered around my bed in the ICU and is wondering if I’m even still in there, here’s what I want you to do:

Play either “America” from the Broadway score to “West Side Story,” or “Are You Man Enough” by the Four Tops. Or, in a pinch, the theme song from “Friends.”

If I don’t even try to do the hand claps…look, I’m sorry, but clearly I’m gone and nothing can bring me back. Start divvying up my body parts and my comic books. And please, someone delete my browser history.

 

 

 

An Idler In San Francisco

Gate-fold

You can attempt to divide by zero or take the square root of a negative number. It’s adorable that you’d even try, because it’s impossible, of course.

“Getting from downtown San Francisco to Cupertino without any fuss” is the divide by zero of Bay area logistics. It can’t be done. It’s doubly-frustrating because I’m not battering my head against eternal principles of mathematics but against lousy urban planning.

Why, yes! I am on a southbound Caltrain! How perceptive of you! Continue reading “An Idler In San Francisco”

The Official Position Of The Ihnatko.com Editorial Board On Nazi-Punching

…Is as follows:

  1. If you’re a hero on the cover of a vintage comic book: always acceptable, even desireable;
  2. When the Nazi is either physically assaulting you or is clearly prepating to physically assault you: always acceptable, even necessary;

And that’s as far as I’ve got.

Each of us is an innocent civilian in the war between our Emotional and Intellectual selves. The Emotional self says “It would feel so good if we did this…” while the Intellectual self responds “Yes, but hang on: what if…” Continue reading “The Official Position Of The Ihnatko.com Editorial Board On Nazi-Punching”

VOTES FOR WOMEN!

Vintage newspaper photo of suffragettes holding
I wonder what goes on inside Trump’s head. I wonder about this with the same befuddlement with which I wonder how snakes can move without any legs, how that guy I once saw on I-95 managed to get this far without the state police pulling him over for operating a vehicle with three tires and one bare rim, and vector calculus in general.

Trump’s brain is an alien thing to me. I’ve made so many mistakes over the past couple of years due to the fact that I’ve been trying to interpret the man’s statements and strategy with the same software I’ve used every day since I received the “Comprehend The Humans Instead Of Just Being Alarmed By Them All The TIme” system update. But Trump is an edge case, for sure. Continue reading “VOTES FOR WOMEN!”

Paul Ryan 1970-20?? HOLD IN CMS

It’s no secret that people in the news game maintain an inventory of obituaries of prominent, not dead, not even sick citizens. It’s the responsible choice. Murphy’s Law dictates that if Betty White is even capable of dying, it’s sure to happen when we’re recovering from a two-day bender and are incapable of giving this fine lady the sendoff that she deserves.

So the fact that I wrote House Speaker Paul Ryan’s obituary today should in no way be taken as some sort of wishful thinking. I sincerely hope that the man lives a long, long life and expires in a state of peace, surrounded by the many people who love him.

Seriously. If anything, I’m writing this now because I’m certain that the Speaker is going to outlive me. I mean, just look at him. Even the worst photo of him ever taken indicates a man brimming with health, committed to daily exercise and a regular diet.

Whereas I, as I write this, have just eaten a carrot cake donut and am halfway through a twenty ounce bottle of Diet Dr Pepper. Continue reading “Paul Ryan 1970-20?? HOLD IN CMS”

Congress repeals access to free public school education

Of course they didn’t. But imagine it. New Congress and their first order of business is to pass legislation that dismantles the public education system. Children are no longer guaranteed access to K-12 for free. Actually, they’re not even guaranteed access to K-12. Not as a fundamental right.

All schools in America have the right to refuse to accept any child for any reason. All schools in America can expel any child for any reason. And all of these schools will be sharing information between themselves freely, so if Billy or Jane got kicked out of third grade because their school didn’t feel like accommodating their food allergy or their disability, that could disqualify them from ever getting educated anywhere. Continue reading “Congress repeals access to free public school education”

“Fake News”

It’s the hip new PR trend of 2017! I present to you “Fake News”: the miraculous magic wand that can make any inconvenient or embarrassing public revelation disappear in a flash!

Yeah. Bad trend. I hope I’m not just being optimistic when I observe that it only seems to work on people who just want something to stick in their earholes before they clap their hands tightly to the sides of their heads and start humming loudly. To everyone else, it comes across as an act of eye-rolling desperation.

That’s not to say that “fake news” (let’s define it as “clearly non-newsworthy reporting, crafted in the service of impact and manipulation rather than actual journalism”) doesn’t exist. But the more powerful and influential you become, the less entitled you are to use “fake news” as a two-syllable dismissal of reporting. Continue reading ““Fake News””

Farewell, Doctor

I stopped buying sugared soda for the house ages ago. Even when I had the metabolism of a man in his mid-Twenties, some sense of self-preservation noted that drinking as much as a liter of Coke a day was incompatible with long life. It’s a hazard of self-employment. One likes to have a tumbler of drinkable liquid at hand and when the tumbler is empty, it’s a wonderful excuse to walk away from the keyboard. It’s why successful crime novelists are alcoholics.

Continue reading “Farewell, Doctor”

End the suckage of 2016 with fonts from the 2017 Comicraft sale!

If, at the end of “The Wizard Of Oz,” one of the three freaks who somehow blagged themselves onto Dorothy’s warrior quest asked the Wizard for “an ineffable and infallable sense of visual design,” he would have responded thusly:

“My lad, I have read catalogues, advertisements, book covers, movie posters, and product packaging. I have attended design conferences and watched endless keynotes from the best minds that ever escaped from Madison Avenue, who, when confronted for the first time with actual reality, could only speak in adverbs. Softly. Continue reading “End the suckage of 2016 with fonts from the 2017 Comicraft sale!”

Why ALMANAC #2 is super-crazy-late

Thanks, everyone, for your wonderful reaction to the first episode of my new podcast, “Almanac“!

It’s intended to be (and will be) a weekly-ish show. So why has it been a month already and now Show #0002?

While Almanac isn’t going to be an “Andy spouts off about what’s on his mind at the moment” show (well, not primarily, anyway), I feel like the next show has to focus on my reactions to the election. Because, truth be told, I’ve been thinking about little else. Continue reading “Why ALMANAC #2 is super-crazy-late”