I don’t mean to make you jealous, but I have to talk about the TAM again (Twentieth Anniversary Mac). Take comfort, dear readers… this brief spell of apparent gloating will soon be tempered…
The wife and kids are taking a vacation from me. Well, that’s not really true (not completely anyway). We were supposed to take a grand tour of New England… our ancestral & childhood home… about a month ago. These plans were of course thwarted by my bout of cellular rebellion (be sure to think biology, not telephone).
Now I’m back at work, well on my way to recovery, and more than able to take care of myself… see where this is leading? Last night I made a point of spending every last moment I could with the kids… saving up every little bit of love, like a squirrel gathering nuts for winter. This morning I woke up the kids before leaving for work to say goodbye for a week.
This is where the TAM comes in.
My daily work routine involves a little refrigeration for the perishables, powering up my collection of electronics (my work issued Dell – the Dark Knight of Computing), and the TAM (it’s dark beige bearing a passing resemblance to Luke Skywalker in Return of the Jedi), and getting jiggy with my iTunes collection.
(Can you spot me some slack in my attempt for urban hip?)
The first song that came up on random play was “Walking in My Shoes,” by Depeche Mode… a college era favorite… and not terribly helpful for my current state of mind. The second song was “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” by U2… not a lot better, but not any worse. I heard a familiar sound clip next, and before the first note was played I knew what was coming: “Wish You Were Here,” by Pink Floyd. Good grief, how long was this going to keep up? Apparently at least one song longer… “With or Without You,” by U2, was next. I wondered if the TAM was going to become animate and strangle me with the keyboard cord.
As I began to type this entry, I knew the TAM just plain didn’t like me this morning… “American Idiot” (Green Day) came up next.
I know this question has been answered, but why does commercially successful art so often deal with pain? I can understand why a lot of art deals with pain… it’s a way for the artist to deal with it. But successful art? I thought we were a bunch of sappy, good for nothing, “Hollywood ending” types with the emotional depth of a gerbil on speed. (That last part may not make a lot of sense, but it was fun to write.)
That last paragraph is just beging me to go on, but I’ve got nothing more to say about that.