Hannukah came early this year.
I’ve been wanting to get a new computer for months, but couldn’t find the right mix of initiative and time for research. Then, like a omen from the heavens, my old computer died. I made a moderate effort at resucitation, all the while feeling that tinge of excitement escalating in the back of my mind: “Is a visit to the Apple Store in my future?” Signs point to yes.
I think I knew what I wanted all along, but to justify it, I forced myself to draw up a comparison sheet between all possible models. This was my inner statistician asserting itself. Armed with this data, and the valued consultation of some friends, I found myself going into the Michigan Avenue Apple Store on Monday after work, and walking out an hour later with my new iMac.
What they don’t tell you when you’re shopping for these things is how heavy they are. And how they don’t fit inside any pacakging-concealing bag. Once I figured these two things out, I was already wakling out the door, lumbering my way to the L, hoping I don’t suffer at the hands of an opportunistic mugger. When the middle-aged guy in a suit and running shoes started to engage me in conversation on the L platform, I had a moment’s thought to tell him, no, I didn’t just buy a computer, I just use that box to lug around my books.
I got home and set it up immediately. Oh, lordy. I’m pretty sure I’ve been away from my desk in the week since, but I sure don’t remember any of it. It’s entirely possible I could die of starvation sitting here, enraptured by the glow of this screen and all the nerdiness it contains.