Topical, man: What's really behind a Steve Jobs keynote.
Dried hydrangea blooms in the backyard.
Monday, January 9, 2006
Well, for the first time in several years I'm not spending this week in the bowels of the Moscone; shifting uncomfortably from foot to aching foot, gamely explaining the purpose of Workplace's Mac OS X-only software applications to the eye-twitchy woman who tells me after one solid hour that she's still using OS 9, restraining myself from telling Mr. Bluetooth Phone Guy that he spilled Sbarro down the front of his nerd uniform (Australian duster jacket, .SIT HAPPENS t-shirt), and chewing my thousandth piece of gum in hopes that it will be an inspiration to others. Macworld! Ah, the memories.
Instead, my poor beleaguered coworker - who took over the thankless task of tradeshow preparations while I was gone (note to self: prepare some small token of appreciation for this effort, perhaps redundant internal organ or vat of gold doubloons?) - will be managing Workplace's booth presence while I remain here, carefully plotting my next maternity leave to coincide with Macworld 2007.
Tomorrow our entire office will be glued to their monitors (30-inch cinema displays, by the way, gifted to all employees' workstations a couple months ago, and holy fucking shitballs, those things are huge and awesome) watching the keynote. Of particular interest to Workplace is if Apple makes a certain announcement involving a word that sounds like Shmintel, and of course we all want to know about the next iSpleen. It's the one thing that's actually very cool about being at Macworld, seeing the new toys right out of the chute.
Oh, and the fan love. Yes, Workplace has fanboys. They maybe even write slash fiction about Workplace, about our hot throbbing UI and our sweaty preferences panel and all, and -
Jeez, there I was about to say how nice it is to meet people who genuinely love my company's products, and I had to fuck it all up with that slash fiction thing. Sorry, that's just gross. I highly doubt any of the Macworld attendees would be into that. Or coring out holes in stuffed animals. Or naughty tentacles. Ahem. (But they would definitely be into nerd porn, no two ways about it.)
It's a good thing I opted to stay home this week, since JB is in Asia until Saturday. Had we both left town, we would have had to leave Riley in the care of Dog. I mean, it probably would have worked out okay, since Dog is a Labrador, and Labradors are often "helper dogs", right? We could have clamped a boppy pillow around her midsection and everything. But perhaps it's best we didn't have to go that route, as I'm not completely certain of Dog's diapering capabilities.
In other news, I left the boy in JB's care yesterday and fled the house for a movie. We never go out to movies any more, it's one of the only things I truly miss about our pre-baby rockstar lifestyle. Maybe one day we'll find a babysitter and JB and I will go out to dinner (without bolting our food as though wolves were baying at the back door) and see a movie together (without hitting pause 3062182 times while attending to the angry child who does not care how Serenity ends, thank you very much), but until then it seems we must venture to the theater only in shifts, and so I chose a movie I figured JB would have no desire to see. Clearly that movie was the latest Harry Potter installment, but since the Goblet of Whatever was like five hours long, I went to Hostel instead.
It seems to be being touted as the scariest, sickest, nastiest film ever made. And okay, if you prefer chainsaws to be exclusively used for the purpose of cutting down trees, optic nerves to be chastely tucked away in their eyesockets, and achilles tendons to remain whole and hidden under a protective layer of dermis, epidermis, and subcutaneous tissue - Hostel is not for you. It's gory, for sure, but not in any particularly creative way. Also, it's not actually frightening, which is kind of a disappointment for a, you know, horror movie. I give it two out of five severed fingers.
Riley is getting BIG, you guys. He's outgrown a whole slew of clothes and two sizes of diapers now. At his four-month appointment I learned he's in the 75% percentile as far as length, and 25% in weight - so he's long and lean, this kid. Something he certainly did not inherit from me personally.
I am marveling over how Riley has changed, I am helplessly mourning the passing of time even as I celebrate the future. I'm guessing I will feel this way in a year, five years, twenty years. My boy, my Riley Bear, I wish I could capture each moment and forever preserve it, replete and perfect, just as you are.
Lastly, a haiku about facial hair:
What was he thinking