It must’ve been March or April 2002. I was working on the beginning journalism class’s edition of the student newspaper, Epic. My last experience with a Mac had been in elementary school, almost 10 years previously.
It took me a while, but I got the hang of it. I loved the computers so much that in January 2004, when our Compaq died, I begged my parents for an iMac G4. At that time, Apple had what I called the “desk lamp iMacs.” My mother capitulated, and as I write this, our iMac is still on my parents’ desk, a few thousand miles away. At Christmas, it’s getting replaced, almost eight years after my parents bought it, with a new Intel iMac.
My PowerBook G4, purchased in early 2005, lasted almost six years, during which I used it almost constantly and took it with me to England and back. I’m writing this on my new MacBook Pro, just a year old and already one of my best “friends.” That’s to say nothing of my newsroom computers and several family iPods.
My years-long infatuation with Mac products made last night’s news bulletin, that Steve Jobs had died, pretty difficult to take. The obituaries popped up almost instantly — John Markoff’s in the Times, and Gawker’s aggregation of remarks — and even people who weren’t keen on Mac products seemed stunned.
There isn’t much I can say that hasn’t already been said, except to say that Macs have made my life better and more connected, and may have even helped steer me toward my career choice.
So thanks, Steve.