So I'm Marrying a Mac Geek...

So, I'm marrying a Mac Geek. He hates that I call him that, but he is, and he knows it. So he can suck it up.

I never expected to marry a Mac Geek. I never expected to marry, period. I thought I'd grow up, become a rich and famous director and, spend my romantic life bouncing between hot actors and the occasional male model. Did reality figure into this little daydream? Not really.

How did I end up with John? It's a long story, but in the end I'm glad I did. He's changed my life in so many little ways that I never could have expected. One of them, one of the major ways he's changed my life, is that he introduced me to Mac computers.

Now computers are a BIG part of my life. I'm a graphic designer (waved goodbye to those dreams of a theater career in college when I was tired of working twenty hours a day, eating my meals standing up and one handed while I wielded a screwgun with the other), and a digital artist, and I spend most of my day sitting in front of one computer or another. When I first started out as a digital artist I was working on a borrowed PC that wouldn't run Corel Painter, and crashed if I opened Illustrator.

John showed me--pardon the expression--a whole new world. A world where the system doesn't crash if it's running two programs at once. A world where my computer can be as pretty and stylish as whatever I'm working on. A... well... you get the point.

I love my Mac.

Am I a Mac Geek? I don't know. If preferring a Mac to a PC makes me a Mac Geek, I suppose I am. But mostly my knowledge extends to: Look, I can run the entire CS Suite without it crashing and be online at the same time! Sweet!

But part of marrying a Mac Geek means that I get to be involved in his interests, and so every now and then I dip my big toe in the pool of Geekdom, just to see what's going on. It's not as smelly as I thought it would be. :)

For the last three years, he's been telling me all about MacWorld. Here's what I know about Macworld: It's big. It's full of all kinds of vendors hawking their MACcessories, and techno geeks who are quietly creaming their pants over the mere thought of an Apple developed phone. John speaks at it, and there are loads of classes and sessions, some of which might actually interest me. Anything new and interesting coming out of Apple is likely to go through Macworld first, and there's a very good chance that this year, I might be able to get Kevin Smith to sign his ass for me.*

Oh yes, and I need new shoes for it.

For the last few years, I've been unable to go, due mainly to my work schedule. But THIS year it's been scheduled and booked, and in a week I'll be getting on a plane with my Mac Geek and heading off to the biggest iOrgy in the country. I'm actually looking forward to it.

For one thing, it gives me a chance to meet all of his friends before the wedding; and since most of his friends are even more scattered than mine (I know artists from Florida to New Zealand), that's a good thing. For another, I've never been to San Francisco. For a third... well... a week in a hotel with your fiance doesn't suck.

And this will be my first real glimpse into the world he inhabits. I know there are more than a few people out there silently shaking their heads and making bets on how long I survive this experience, (or at least how long our relationship survives it). I'm not worried. I've been a theater geek and an art geek, and I've crossed the line a few times to explore the world of gaming geeks and comic geeks. I've been in the home of a couple that was so addicted to EverCrack that their floor was lurking somewhere beneath a thick layer of filth that clung to your shoes and threatened to adhere you to it permanently. I seriously doubt that Macworld can serve up anything worse.

I've been asked to write down my thoughts on this experience, because I'm approaching this with the trepidation and naïveté of the iVirgin. So I've set this up to be my chronicles. My witness. My evidence, if you will.

And for all of you taking bets? I'll put some money down that says I DO marry John in October of next year, and that no matter how hard I try, I will never teach the man to make coffee properly.

*I have a Silent Bob doll I got a few years back. :D

Here’s the thing about flying: until I flew out to Kansas City to meet John in 2004, I’d never flown before in my life. So the whole concept of getting on a plane can, sometimes, be a little nerve-wracking for me. I haven’t had time yet to get jaded about the experience, and I think it’s one of the reasons why, even when it’s still Hell’s:Frozen Over a.m. and I’m falling asleep standing up at the ticket counter because I only had maybe an hour of sleep the night before, I’m almost incapable of sleeping on a plane.

So I figured I’d put the time to good use, somehow.

This is, actually, the first time that John and I have ever flown together. We both spend a lot of time at airports, taking turns at being the one lugging the baggage around (and this is the perfect sentence for my “g” key to suddenly decide that it doesn’t want to type). But we usually part ways at the security gate.

Flying with John is an interesting experience. Especially when you have to wake up at 3 a.m. to make your flight. He marvels at my ability to take a shower while half asleep with my eyes closed. I marvel at his ability to be fully awake and functional enough to drag me through the airport, get the boarding passes, sleepwalk through security, and then onto the plane where he promptly, with little to no transition time, goes from wide awake to dead to the world.

Dead to the world, by the way, includes snoring softly, and his mouth dropping wide open, making him look remarkably like the Incredible Mr. Limpet. Every once in awhile I reach over and tap him on the chin, which causes him to reflexively close his mouth. Of course, by the time I’ve glanced away and back again it’s dropped back open to porn star wide.

Considering his abilities as a public speaker and all around know-it-all, I’m surprised he doesn’t talk in his sleep.

I’m probably ruining his reputation right now, though.

It’s funny to me, knowing that there are a lot of people out there who think my fiance is world’s largest asshole. And he can be, don’t get me wrong. But luckily I get to see the funny, goofy, loveable, generous side of him. The side that is, thankfully, turned away from me at the moment and drooling into the aisle.

I’m looking forward to Macworld. I’m looking forward to getting to meet his friends, and seeing this thing that is such a huge part of who he is. I’m also looking forward to hearing lots of funny, blackmail worthy stories of his past Macworld antics.

Cause a guy who can be such a colossal asshole on occasion, needs to marry a woman who can be a giant dick.

My first impression of San Francisco: it's like a really old library, where they've forgotten to weed out the books.

First off, it's HUGE. Now don't get me wrong, Orlando is a BIG city, but the land under it is as flat as a board, so you can't see a lot of it all at once. And because of the hurricane codes, Orlando is a short city, it's only downtown where things start reaching up toward the sky, and even then they don't get very high. It sprawls instead, for miles and miles, greedily sucking up it's suburbs until there's little to no definition.

San Francisco is HUGE and crammed tight with people. The buildings are all tall and thin and squished so closely together that they're actually holding one another up, like books on a shelf. Helping the impression are the hills. They really weren't joking about the hills. So now you've got your line of books, and above it and behind it is another line, and then another, and another. And stuck in there, in some places you can see the old ones, that are more than a little shabby and falling apart, and probably ought to be pulled out and kindly deposited in the book sale or, not so kindly, in the dumpster. Even downtown, where you have stores, they're all packed side by side so tight that I'm surprised they can breathe.

Our hotel is one of those places, tiny and antique looking, but clearly well preserved and loved. Our room is about the size of a postage stamp, but very pretty and efficient, with a great big bed, and old fashioned white wood furniture, and a big old clawfoot tub dominating the bathroom. I loved it immediately. The room, not just the tub.

Checked in, napped a bit to recharge my dying batteries. Then went out to meet people.

Went to dinner with Shawn and Lesa (hosts of Your Mac Life), Schoun (who John says is running the Mac IT track for the conference), Sarah (Paul Kent's right hand, and mastermind behind the Macworld advertising), and Sly (YML's IRC babe and a good friend).

Understand, please, that I have very little idea who some of these people are, and there are times when I'm introduced to people and the person doing the introducing is looking at me, waiting for the moment of awe or whatever, and I'm thinking: Oh, okay. Another name to remember. What do you do again?

I've talked to Shawn and Lesa quite a bit, though, and it was fun meeting them for the first time and seeing them life size, as I'm much more accustomed to seeing their faces about an inch high in my quicktime window. Shawn seems to be laboring under the mistaken impression that I'm going to be nicer to him to his face. We'll see how much I can abuse him of that notion by the end of the week. :) He's a jolly giant, though, I'll grant him that, and I liked both him and Lesa on sight.

After a long, long, do-you-think-we're-lost? walk, we ate at a nice little Mexican place that was far too free with their guacamole, chatted, and then headed off again into the streets.

We met up with Jim Dalrymple and Colin, who I'm told are also something like gods in the Mac Pantheon. Colin is the little Welsh one, and Jim is Bacchus in the flesh. I liked Jim immensely. Especially because when you disturb him his face does its best to curl into a small place (probably behind his immense beard), and think happy thoughts that probably involve giant tits full of Heinekin. He's got the temperment of an adorable grumpy baby bear, and the appetite of a full grown one, and you do not, under any circumstances, get between that man and his cheese/beer/tits.

We curled up in a little dive bar for a bit, while Jim grumped and nursed on his beer, then wandered over to Dave's, which, I'm told, is this crew's main stomping ground during the expo. About now my batteries were flashing empty and Sly looked ready to yawn wide enough to crack her skull wide like a true South Park Canadian. So John kindly (after being kicked in the shin a couple of times) brought us back to the hotel for the night.

This morning we're off for Sonoma to tour the wineries. I'll bring the camera and actually USE it today.

Yesterday Shawn and Lesa rented a car, and along with Sly (and John of course) we all headed up (down?) to Napa Valley and Sonoma for a tour of wine country.

Confession: I don't drink. Not beer. Not vodka. Not gin. Not wine. Especially not wine. And I could give you several reasons that all pretty much boil down to: don't like it. Does that mean I'd pass up a trip to see these places? Hell no. I'm sober, not stupid.

We set off fairly early, and spent a rather large chunk of the day in the sunshine under one of the bluest skies I've ever seen, going up and down mountains along winding roads, and looking at vast acres of property covered in sticks.

It's January. They don't have grapes, they have sticks.

It was still beautiful though, and the wineries themselves are well worth the trip. We stopped at two: The Rubicon Estates Winery (used to be called Neibaum-Coppola), and the St. Francis Winery. The first was simply beautiful. The winery itself is an old chateau style building built in the 1800's by a sea captain, and currently owned and run by Francis Ford Coppola (of movie fame). The second was nice, but not as impressive, and, I'm told, the wine mostly sucked compared to the first.

It was a good day, the kind that makes you happy just to be out in the sun and doing something fun with friends.

Afterward we met up with more people than I can possibly remember, and went out for Indian food, and then came back to the hotel early. I'm told this is the calm before the storm, and that there won't be too many other opportunities for relaxing like this, so I'm glad I got a chance now.

This morning we went over to the expo hall and picked up our badges/passes, and John got his Bag o' Swag, which made me wish I was smarter or more famous, or something, so I could be a speaker. Cause, well, DAMN.

Made it back to the hotel at a run, and hopped on the YML bus trip to Cupertino, where I got to see Mac fans in a feeding frenzy. I've never seen people swarm a store like that before, and that's saying something, because my mother is a master shopper. Grabbed lunch and headed back.

The phone calls have started up again, and John is currently on the phone doing a podcast interview with...er... I've lost track. We're heading out in a bit to two separate parties, and then tomorrow: the Keynote.

The debate on the bus was raging fast and furious, and even now John's fielding questions about the speculations on what's coming out. You'd think that whatever they're releasing was going to revolutionize the world, somehow, the way everyone talks about it. In the end, however, unless Steve Jobs gets up on that stage and demonstrates a teleporter, it'll just be another cool gadget that will be well put together, intelligently designed, and better than whatever else is out there. It will probably surprise people for awhile, everyone will argue about it for a few years, but by next year there'll be something better.

Cynical? yes. I'm not a Mac Mac. I'm Jane Public. I'm a consumer. I prefer my Mac over my PC at work. I prefer Apple products because they're better put together than anyone else's. Has it changed my life: yes, in small ways. Technology does that. Am I going to go and try and sneak into the front row and hope Steve Jobs sweats in my general direction?

No.

Emphatically, no.

Photos follow:

The Smile on My Mac people were having a get together last night, in a tiny, sweet little house that must cost a fortune, buried in downtown San Francisco. Getting there involved a cab, a VERY steep hill, a nearly hidden iron gate, a steep flight of brick stairs, and a path through an overgrown garden (in the dark gardens are always overgrown).

The people there were very sweet, and very nice, even though we all spent a great deal of time eying one another and wondering who the hell everyone was and what we were doing there. (Except for Shawn, of course, because everyone knows Shawn.)

Then John and I tried not to fall down the steep hill, managed to catch a cab, and headed over to the Beale(sp?) Street bar for the Mac Managers party. I never knew that Mac Geeks were so LOUD. It was wall to wall geekdom, let loose from its natural habitat and gorging on fried food and free beer. If there was music, I couldn't hear it. Conversation was conducted mainly by yelling and leaning over pointing at your ears in the universal "Sorry, I can't fucking hear you, speak up!" signal.

I met a lot of people, most of whom were named Mike or some variation of the name "Shawn/Schoun/Sean." I wish my insomnia was as bad as it was in college, because I could have cheerfully stayed longer, but for my damned eyelids.

So John kindly brought me back to the hotel, and then wandered over to Dave's bar to talk to someone. I don't remember when he got back, because I was too busy having a strange dream involving Microsoft paint and clipart of chinchillas. (No more Jalepeno poppers for ME before bed.)

I woke myself up laughing, with John leaning over me going "Are you okay?" I was fine, but he quickly became not fine. Apparently there was broccoli in something that he ate last night, which he happens to be allergic to. I won't share the gastropyrotechnics that occurred after that.

This morning was the Keynote, which I had no ticket to, and I wasn't about to wait outside in the cold at 4 a.m. to be trampled by the masses, so I slept in. John crawled out of bed, took a shower, packed his gear and headed out.

Apparently they released an iPhone today, and appletv. I read Peter Cohen's play by play over at MacCentral from my hotel room, to John, who stumbled back in about the time the Keynote was starting. He's currently curled into a ball of misery behind me. I ventured out long enough to find him some ginger ale, but otherwise... I love the man. My place is here.

I just wish here included either room service or a large plain cheese pizza.

You enter the Moscone Center through a wall of glass. It’s sleek, the Moscone, modern and glittering in the sunlight. Inside, however, it’s a different story.

You’d think, with all the computer equipment, the new technology, the iPhones and iPods, and innovative accessories for all of it, that we were progressing as a society. Until you start noticing that the people are more like sharks that smell too much blood in the water, pushing and shoving and jostling one another for position in front of this booth or that. Free stuff? Gimme! A new cover for my iBook? I want one! Register to win a free iPod? YES!

(It’s no surprise that iPods cost as much as they do. We’re paying for all the free ones that everyone is giving away. I swear, I’ve been offered so many chances to win a free iPod you’d think they were giving away candy.)

The next thing you notice is that there are themes running through the booths. Bigger. Taller. Weirder. The more colorful and interesting, the more eye catching, the better. Everywhere you look, they’re going out of their way to catch your eye. And if they can’t do it visually, that’s all right: they have small troops of black clad professionals ready to grab your attention in some other way. Have a flier. Free sample. Want to try? Go ahead!

My first trip through the Exhibit Hall was just that: a trip. I wanted to look at the big picture for a while before I narrowed down on what I wanted to see. It might not have been the best plan because the big picture is really overwhelming. I’m also not the kind of person who just approaches and starts asking questions. And if I’m approached my first response is “no, thanks.” John was in an IT session this morning, so I was pretty much on my own, and the “no, thanks” response was definitely winning over any curiosity I might have felt in any of the booths.

Note to self: don’t go alone. Bring someone who will at least start asking the questions.

Shocked by that statement? You’ve probably met me and realized that in many ways I’m not a shy person. Whatever I’m thinking tends to fall out of my mouth on a regular basis without time for mental editing. But put me in an overwhelming situation on my own and I go into defensive mode.

Took a break and hung out with Sly this afternoon. Found shoes that I can wear to the YML party tomorrow night that will be comfortable and warm (case the ones I brought definitely didn’t qualify for either). Still no bag though.

That’s another thing. I have two laptop bags. One John bought for me: a lovely, sturdy black Brenthaven messenger style bag with enough padding to protect my laptop in the event that it is backed over by a semi, or dropped off a 30 story building, and compact compartments for all my shite. The other my mother bought for me: it’s a $25 iPack from Target, messenger style, not as much padding, but it does have a compartment for my iPod that allows me to plug the headphones into the strap and use special buttons on the strap to control it, and enough room for me to carry a LOT of stuff as well as my laptop without it getting too bulky or awkward.

I brought the Brenthaven, thinking that it would be better for banging the laptop around in, but I’m starting to wish I’d brought the other instead. I like the Brenthaven, but it’s HEAVY, not something you want to be carrying for extended periods of time. And the shoulder strap, even at it’s longest, is just a little too short, so it bangs against my hip when I walk. It’s uncomfortable and unwieldy, and it makes me feel wretched cause I know how damn much it cost. But shouldn’t something that costs so much be at least comfortable to carry?

We’re going to the Brenthaven party tonight, and I’m going to be biting my tongue the whole time, trying not to bitch about it. I don’t have to carry a laptop most of the time, thank god, but there’s no way in hell, unless my shoulders were broader, that I’d be able to carry that bag more than just to the airport and from. Not unless I wanted to dislocate an arm.

I’ve been quiet for a few days.

Unfortunately, that was less because I was busy being social, and more because I was busy fighting off whatever the hell it was John gave me. Turns out it wasn’t broccoli after all, but some incredibly nasty stomach bug that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. If I find the person who passed it to John, I’m gonna flush their head once for every time I had to throw up, and then a few times more for good measure.

You made me miss the YML party.

‘Nough said.

So I spent Thursday shopping with Sly and spending money on clothes for a party I wasn’t destined to go to, and Thursday night curled up against a toilet bowl. Friday was better, in that I was no longer heaving up air, and the fever broke around 2 in the afternoon... sadly not early enough for me to make it back to the Exhibit Hall to check out the stuff I wanted to check out: I’m sorry Art Rage. I had high hopes.

Last night was Lesa and Shawn’s anniversary dinner, which I’d forgotten about thanks to all the quality toilet time, (probably a good thing, since it was supposed to be a surprise), in a VERY crowded bar somewhere on Sacramento. It’s interesting the things your stomach does after a bout of ...whatever. Much like having a baby armadillo inside you, alternating uncurling and sniffing about curiously, then ducking back into a tight protective ball at the merest mention of scary food. Sadly, I barely managed two bites (if that) of my chicken sandwich, which looked awesome and smelled incredible, but made my armadillo stomach sad.

Today was even better, which was good, because we met with the Scobles (Robert and Maryam) for lunch, and they took us to the Cheesecake Factory. It’s at this point that my stomach uncurled and went FOOD! Robert, for those who are interested, reminded me very much of Phillip Seymour Hoffman, only slightly more put together. Maryam was just adorable, in the kind of way that makes you want to be her best friend. She asked about the wedding, and I did my best “Trying not to look like a deer in the headlights” impression. I’m pretty sure I failed miserably.

See the thing is, while I’m looking forward to getting married, and I can’t wait to be married to John, there’s a big part of me that keeps saying “Eloping is always an option.” Of course, this is the part of me that convinces me every night that of course, the dishes really can wait one MORE day before you put them in the dishwasher. It’s not that I’m lazy, I’m just a procrastinator, and this is such a HUGE thing that I’ve already kicked into procrastination mode. Luckily I have a mother. Mothers are very good at getting excited for you and making you do things that you would otherwise put off till the very last minute. I wish she’d do that about the weight thing, but if I keep tossing my cookies that won’t be an issue.

(No, I’m not bulimic. I HATE throwing up. Don’t be stupid.)

After the Cheesecake Factory (and can I just say: whoever their interior decorator was had both a perverse sense of humor and a fucking field day), we went to the 39th floor of the Marriot (why 39? Why didn’t you just make it an even 40?), and had a spectacular view of San Francisco and a glorious sunset.

I also learned a few things:

1.) Geeks need wives. Preferably, wives that are solidly grounded in reality so they can wander off into geek world and still have a tether back to normal.

2.) When you put more than two geeks in the same room together, they react like feedback loop: one goes geek, the other goes geekier, the third gets geekier still, until it’s just one major screeching blast of geekdom that sends anyone not tuned to their frequency scurrying for earplugs.

3.) John and Robert, side by side, could be brothers. (And I’m sure one of them might kill me for that statement.)

After the sun set, we wandered back to the hotel and watched the last few episodes of “The IT Crowd” which was hilarious, then met up with Shawn, Lesa, Sly, Bill, Steve, Aaron, and Kelley for drinks and a late dinner at a very pretentious bar (pretentious in this case being defined as: you’re a bar, you don’t need a menu that requires a translator, for pity’s sake. Really, people don’t require unpronounceable food when they’re getting drunk, unless it’s for the sober people’s entertainment value.)

Then back to the hotel for the night.

There’s a few things I want to say about my first Macworld experience, but I think I’m going to save the wrap up till I get home and have had time to digest it.

Without my stomach going armadillo on me again.

So, I'm home now, after being delayed in San Francisco long enough to miss my connection in Kansas City (although it was the storms in KC that caused the delay). Sadly this meant spending a night with John in KC. :) Can you see me pouting?

There is something fundamentally wrong with a place where ice falls from the sky and your car turns into a ve-sicle. Just saying.

10 degrees (F) in KC when I left at around 9 a.m. A balmy 86 degrees (F) in Orlando when I landed just after noon. There was green grass, and sun glittering on the water, and glistening in the palm trees. People wore shorts and everyone was carrying their jackets. It was paradise.

I love Orlando.

But now I'm home, and I've picked up my car and my cat and I'm sitting and decompressing after the last week and a half of Macmadness, and I find there's a few things I want to say, in summary.

On Tuesday, when John had just come down with his bout of stomach flu, and was curled into a ball of misery in the hotel instead of watching the Keynote, I caught myself doing a Bad Thing:

I was sitting there, at the desk, reading Peter Cohen's live updates of the Keynote, following along as Steve Jobs announces that this year Apple is going to make history, and I was thinking how awful it was that John was missing that moment. This has the potential to be huge, I thought. This could change everything. He might regret missing this for the rest of his...

...then I realized. I was doing the Bad Thing. So I stopped. I backed away from the computer. I looked out the window at the cars going by, and the homeless people begging for change on the corner. At the Bloomingdale's across the road. At the taxis and the construction and all the noisy, crazy, crush of San Francisco.

And I thought: this is nothing really. It's a moment. A gadget. A new toy for the techno kids. In the end, it's not going to change my life significantly. It's not going to change that taxi driver's life. It's *really* not going to change that bum's life, and I wonder if he ever got the $.98 he needed to ransom his wife from her kidnappers.

The way everyone gears up for it, you'd think that Macworld was a meteor that every year impacts the earth and changes it in drastic ways. But really, the effects are pretty minimal. The iPod creeps in, the Mac computer slowly draws some of the market, Apple TV will slowly corner it's share, and the iPhone will, for better or worse, have it's time in the spotlight, and then become just another phone. New things will come out to replace these in a year or 18 months or so, and next year we'll all get together again, the hush will fall, and everyone will brace for a meteor when really, it's more like a pebble being dropped into a pond. The ripples spread, seemingly huge waves at first, but eventually fading out until they're barely there. Then someone tosses in another pebble.

Don't get me wrong. I really enjoyed Macworld. But it wasn't for the gadgetry, or the geekery, or the toys (and really, guys, that's what all of it is: toys. iPod is the new Barbie doll, complete with clothing, accessories, car, house, stereo, computer, and socks). It was meeting so many fascinating, brilliant, incredible people who are all in their own ways uniquely talented. For one week out of the year they descend on San Francisco to play with their toys together, and get roaring drunk, and then they go back home to brag about their toys for another year and argue over who beat who and who had the coolest what.

I loved that aspect. I loved meeting John's friends.

But to the man who sat there the other night and told me how he woke up one Saturday morning after having his Hi Def TV installed and turned on a crappy football game between two crappier college teams and found it to be a "Life Changing Experience" and an "Epiphany;" and to all of his ilk, who think that their pebbles really are meteors, to them I have just one thing to say:

Get over yourselves.