The last few weeks have brought out many peoples' thoughts, reflections and remembrances of the life and impact of Steve Jobs.
I don't think I can add to the discussion, other than saying he was a remarkable man, who has influenced my daily life.
A few years ago I applied for a position at a site that does human interest stories about Apple Computers.
I didn't get the job, but my interview essay was about the first Apple I owned. I still think it's relevant and a pretty good essay, so I thought I'd share.
MY COLOR CLASSIC IS A CLASSIC
I’ve owned my Macintosh Color Classic for fifteen years. The computer’s packed away, increasingly obsolete. Recently, my parents asked me to sort through over thirty years of boxed memories, books, toys, and schoolwork that I had stashed in their basement. I minimized my life down to two boxes of mementos. Yet, I held onto my color classic. My parents asked why hold onto a computer that couldn’t even be used to simply browse the Internet. After several explanations, I realized my replies were basically a manifestation of irrational attitudes towards inanimate objects that only devout Mac worshippers exhibit.
A high school graduation gift from my parents, the Color Classic was my first computer. While most kids received cars, or stereos, my dream was a Mac. Sure, the PC clones were ubiquitous at East Coast schools, but the first computer I learned on was an Apple IIe. After seeing Ridley Scott’s Macintosh commercial, I sat through agonizing years, longing for one. The color classic was the only computer for me.
I reveled in the color classic’s style and solitariness. My color classic represented rebellion in a cold soul crushing PC world; I was Marlon Brando riding a Harley into town from the “Wild One,” answering the question of “what are you rebelling against” with “whaddya got?”
I probably couldn’t have picked a worst time to choose a Mac. Apple was just entering a slide into almost obsolescence, challenging even the most fanatic of users. I felt as if I was left with a machine that was abandoned by an embarrassed parent. Apple products were stashed in the backwoods of computer superstores. As the world became aware of the Internet, my small box with a USRobotics sportster (14.4 kbps), became a speed bump on the information highway. I could barely pull text email off of the web.
Eventually, after years of struggling, Apple reinvented itself. My classic and I had endured from the fringe of the computer world to being pioneers. I updated to a Powerbook G3, a far superior machine, however I was bonded to my little friend. We had survived college, late night essays, bad video games, the introduction to the Internet, calculus, emails to friends around the word. The inanimate computer had become the R2-D2 to my Luke Skywalker. I had no idea what I should do next with the computer.
One afternoon I was browsing the MoMa’s design gallery. There, behind the glass, was the exact copy of my color classic, an example of high design, forever preserved as a masterwork in one of the world’s great museums. My final answer to my parents on why my color classic needed to stay in their basement was that it was a museum piece and would they be so ready to throw out a Cezanne? But in my heart I know that even though my world has drastically changed since I high school, I’ll still have one friend forever waiting for me in all of its 16 MHz glory.
I don't think I can add to the discussion, other than saying he was a remarkable man, who has influenced my daily life.
A few years ago I applied for a position at a site that does human interest stories about Apple Computers.
I didn't get the job, but my interview essay was about the first Apple I owned. I still think it's relevant and a pretty good essay, so I thought I'd share.
MY COLOR CLASSIC IS A CLASSIC
I’ve owned my Macintosh Color Classic for fifteen years. The computer’s packed away, increasingly obsolete. Recently, my parents asked me to sort through over thirty years of boxed memories, books, toys, and schoolwork that I had stashed in their basement. I minimized my life down to two boxes of mementos. Yet, I held onto my color classic. My parents asked why hold onto a computer that couldn’t even be used to simply browse the Internet. After several explanations, I realized my replies were basically a manifestation of irrational attitudes towards inanimate objects that only devout Mac worshippers exhibit.
A high school graduation gift from my parents, the Color Classic was my first computer. While most kids received cars, or stereos, my dream was a Mac. Sure, the PC clones were ubiquitous at East Coast schools, but the first computer I learned on was an Apple IIe. After seeing Ridley Scott’s Macintosh commercial, I sat through agonizing years, longing for one. The color classic was the only computer for me.
I reveled in the color classic’s style and solitariness. My color classic represented rebellion in a cold soul crushing PC world; I was Marlon Brando riding a Harley into town from the “Wild One,” answering the question of “what are you rebelling against” with “whaddya got?”
I probably couldn’t have picked a worst time to choose a Mac. Apple was just entering a slide into almost obsolescence, challenging even the most fanatic of users. I felt as if I was left with a machine that was abandoned by an embarrassed parent. Apple products were stashed in the backwoods of computer superstores. As the world became aware of the Internet, my small box with a USRobotics sportster (14.4 kbps), became a speed bump on the information highway. I could barely pull text email off of the web.
Eventually, after years of struggling, Apple reinvented itself. My classic and I had endured from the fringe of the computer world to being pioneers. I updated to a Powerbook G3, a far superior machine, however I was bonded to my little friend. We had survived college, late night essays, bad video games, the introduction to the Internet, calculus, emails to friends around the word. The inanimate computer had become the R2-D2 to my Luke Skywalker. I had no idea what I should do next with the computer.
One afternoon I was browsing the MoMa’s design gallery. There, behind the glass, was the exact copy of my color classic, an example of high design, forever preserved as a masterwork in one of the world’s great museums. My final answer to my parents on why my color classic needed to stay in their basement was that it was a museum piece and would they be so ready to throw out a Cezanne? But in my heart I know that even though my world has drastically changed since I high school, I’ll still have one friend forever waiting for me in all of its 16 MHz glory.
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