Open Letter to My Erased Hard Drive

Dear Mac,

I thought I was just buying a simple Macbook whose operative goal was to make me look cool, but you've turned out to be so much more. Your ability to juggle two different applications simultaneously puts you in a league of your own. You reach insurmountable speeds when that technicolor pinwheel spins in a general demise, informing me that the best things in life come to those who wait. You are so hot, and I love it when you sit in my lap and warm my goods like an accomplished lover. Your cunning acumen and reputation culls my mild desires for a long-term companion who I can share all my most secret information with.

We sleep together and the first thing I do is roll over to you and turn you on like you do me, stroke your touchpad, finger your keys. Your wireless convenience allows me to take you everywhere, and where you go, I also follow. Sometimes to the depths of no man's land where people talk with parking lot drawls and have never heard of wi-fi.

Your hard drive makes me whimper, your gigabytes make me swoon. But you said you needed space yesterday in the coffee shop (out of memory and no room) like I was smothering you and you couldn't handle all my needs anymore. I knew this was true when I tried downloading R. Kelly's "Computer Love" and I was denied repeatedly. Out of memory. Incapable of opening up and collecting yet another piece of me. I tried to convince you that it was just a bad day and restarted you, but I quickly learned that your drives were no longer compatible with me because you kept warning me with a prompt that said 'FAILED.'

This broke my heart. So like a fool in love, I went out and bought you that dream RAM you always wanted (4 gigs) and even an external hard drive for moral support, hoping that maybe that would be the answer in giving you the space you needed in our relationship, but you tricked me. You lied to me. You fucked me over when I tried upgrading your operating system to 10.6. You tossed everything we had into the trash without my permission. And now, four years of my life are gone. So much time and energy invested in you. All the pictures we had, music, movies, love letters and spreadsheets. GONE. ALL GONE.

I can't explain the empty feeling of having no data left in our relationship. It's like I don't even know you anymore. I no longer trust your "user friendly" ways. What does that even mean? You freaking whore tart face! Thinking that a relationship counselor would solve our problem was very ambitious of me, especially when the Apple genius tech support told me to get over it and move on because it's impossible to recover data once it's gone.

Initialize me, RAM me, drive me, I don’t give 32 FUCKING bits, I am software at your service. I would do anything to have the data we once had back in our lives. All I wanted to do was make you happy and you screwed me over. I am skeptical of Macs now. But I'll probably get over you with another one in the near future, who will take me to unimaginable places at mind-blowing speeds. I've learned everything and nothing from an erased hard drive. But I will miss you and I will always think fondly of you.

Your helpless user,

JJ

Feng Shui Feeling Limp?

Before you get the sneaky suspicion that I'm becoming some wayward metrosexual, let me preface what I'm about to say by challenging you to the most manly ultimate fight in the history of manly men! {via e-mail}

But first, let me tell you about a dope design firm.

So you want to pimp your palace? Redefine your dull living space? You need some edge in your life? End global warming? Well you need Esther's mega hip help to style and design it for you.

Check out her design firm In Your Space.

If you think I'm wrong, or even slightly fabulous, I will challenge you to a bare-knuckled brawl in the back of a convertible race car, driven by an impossibly hot super model, moving at speeds upwards of 160 mph, on a vast plain in the deserts of West Texas, completing its course on a crazy high ramp that will, shortly after the hot super model chick ejects and rolls to safety, hurl the car and the two of us within it over a cliff and into certain destruction and glory. At the bottom of the canyon, half-dead and mostly on fire, we will claw our way from the smoldering wreckage of the vehicle and begin phase two of the mighty challenge: The dance of mountain lions.

After reading that, I'm allowed to say that I can spot good design, ya heard?

(image source: ffffound)