iTampon

I was going to write a post about Apple’s new gadget that’s coming onto the market in March and April this year.  The iPad will transform the way we view media, it will change our lives – according to the Antichrist, Steve Jobs.

There have been many observations about the iPad, mainly concurring that it’s a huge disappointment and is basically going to be a waste of space, but in one discussion, an observer came out with the following, which I found most astute and which sums up exactly what the evil empire that is Apple is all about:

The language here (and in other iPad propaganda) is interesting. They don’t talk about technology, or specifications, or even value or use cases. They talk about “magic”. Or “desire”.

These are loaded terms – who could be against “desire” or “magic”? But these are not terms we can define easily, or that have a meaning outside of personal experience.

And if you are resorting to vagaries like that to sell a device… then there is something wrong with your product.

There’s endless lists of concrete things that the iPad hasn’t got… multitasking support, flash support, an open software ecosystem, a camera, GPS, standard 3g in all models. There’s endless lists of things it can’t do… act as your only device (really you need a proper computer, a phone and this), replace netbooks, laptops or smart-phones, again multitask (seriously… what the hell? My Amiga could multitask in the 80s!).

But where are the lists of what it can do differently… what it can do better? There’s nothing. Nothing but magic and desire. And that’s what I want from art, not a productivity tool.

And this was posted as a comment in this fawning article in the Grauniad by “British treasure”,  famous nob and Apple evangelist, Stephen Fry.  Cock.

Anyway, many years ago, I wrote a post about Apple’s diversification into other markets and postulated that they’d soon be getting them while they’re young by introducing a whole range of babycare products.  Of particular interest would be the iPood, their range of nappies and baby bottomcare products.  The iPood range would of course have its own docking station, the iPot, known to you and me as a potty.

But I won’t be getting an iPad.  I have an iPhone – why would I want something that was just the same, only more cumbersome, with less functionality?  iPood indeed.

In search of salvation

Next up, Sniffy brings you: “The great search for spiritual salvation”.  Apparently, although, according to the good Christians around us, Jesus is everywhere, he’s not quite the same wherever you go.  I love my girlfriend dearly, absolutely and without condition.  I love that she’s a Christian – a proper, nice one.  But apparently, proper Christians are quite discerning when it comes to finding places of worship… and the music has to be good too.

I’m off to look at slate PCs.

Until next time.

Nobody puts baby in the corner

I’ve had the time of my life… 20 years ago… and now it’s all a bit tired and washed out.

I was thinking about Dirty Dancing the other, not doing it you understand, the actual film Dirty Dancing. I just don’t get it; it’s a stupid film, but I know so many people who love it. It just doesn’t make any sense to me – for the 1950s or 60s, the music is wrong, the hairdos are wrong, and she – Baby – wears the wrong knickers.

Awakening
Tiredness has consumed me. Having suffered interrupted sleep all week, I have now reached Friday afternoon in a zombified state that has a high probability of getting me involved in another car accident. Yes, another, on top of the one in the car park at work this morning.

Here’s a little quiz for you: you’re in your car park at work, or any other multistorey car park, or any car park for that matter, you’re driving along looking for a space and you see the car in front of you reversing into a space, do you:

a) Wait for them to complete their manoeuvre, or
b) Try to drive in between them and the parking space they are reversing in to?

I fell victim of someone who’d forgotten to take their anti-fucktard pill opting for scenario b. My rear bumper is twatted, their car was undamaged.

“Didn’t you see that I was reversing into that parking space?” I asked her.

“I was trying to park”, was her plea.

Fuck.

At least it’s only plastic. At least nobody was hurt. At least I have a huge overdraft facility to pay for the fucking repair myself since my insurance company says that it’d probably be a joint claim. How it’s a joint claim when somebody effectively drove into the back of me, I don’t know, but there you go.

So a trip round the motor body repair shops is on the cards as I try to get a quote to have my bumper unsquished/replaced.

What a fucking life.

Weekend workshop
I think I might use the long weekend to perfect my mind control skills. I haven’t got any mind control skills as yet, but I’m sure it won’t take too long to figure out. I’ll start with staring out the dog, sending her signals to start growling or bum-walking. My ethereal thoughts will pierce her tiny brain: “Imagine there’s an intruder, Jazz, what do you do, what do you do???” “Your mind and soul are mine, Jaaaaaazzzzzzzzzzz, you cannot resist. You have an itch you just can’t scratch. The expensive rug will offer relief. Use it, Jazz, use it!”

Moving on to the difficult Looshkin, who I will compel to walk around miaowing incessantly, using only the power of my mind. “Loooosh-kiiiiin, hear me, you are mine, talk to me Looshkin, tell me your dreams, am I in them? Worship me as the great pouch opener and giver.”

My hardest conquest will be Trump: “Trump, you know you want to provide Sniffy with coffee this Saturday morning and every weekend day for the rest of your lives together. Do it Trump, it is your dessssstineeee”

I shall become the greatest controller of minds. Others will be powerless against my will. Nobody will be able to offer resistance.

And when I’ve got that sorted, I may go to the cinema and perhaps take some photos too.