Mac and me - the beginning

For the longest time, I made derisive comments about Macs. I ridiculed their lack of software, their unbuttoned mice, and their style-over-substance design. I certainly never intended to get one.

But in the end, I was driven into the arms of a Mac by my PC. Partly it's the constant angst of virus threats, the endless Windows updates, and the fact that the computer frequently gets bogged down doing myseterious tasks that I never asked it to do. Mainly though, it's the fact that my photos look too light / too dark / the wrong colour.

Now I know that this is largely down to my monitor. But my most recent monitor has recently decided to get upset with the drivers for my graphics card and really don't see why I should be expected to deal with this nonsense anymore. It's supposed to work.

Apple products seem to just work. They do what they're meant to and they do it pretty well. I bought an iPod, and it was great. I bought an iPhone and it was great. So I have high hopes for the Mac I have now bought.

Sure, it feels weird not knowing my way around. Everything seems a little too friendly and simple for someone who's spent years on PCs. But the biggest problem is that I can now see my photos perfectly. And I can now understand why so many of them were getting rejected by the stock photo agencies - all those simple lighting and colour issues that I could have easily fixed if I'd been able to see them.

So, fingers crossed, this is the start of a beautiful friendship. I'll still play games on my PC and use it for music and web stuff. At least, I will until it annoys me into doing those things on the Mac...

Another year older...

It's a curious thing, but every birthday after 29 seems to have come with a slight tinge of regret. At first, I thought it was all in my head, but now I'm beginning to suspect that I really am becoming a grown-up, with all the disappointment and hassle that entails.

The clincher was probably when Anna asked me not to shave for a few days, saying she'd like to see what I looked like with a beard. I pointed out that she'd seen that before, but I had a couple of days off so I went along with the idea. The results weren't great - beards seldom are - but in my case I seem to have a random scattering of silver stubble that makes the darker bits look dreadfully patchy. It wasn't something I'd particularly noticed before, and then I remembered that my oncoming birthday had a "4" as its first digit, and made the connection.

Age approaches. And with it, I can doubtless expect a host of other unwelcome changes. How long before I start buying clothes from Marks & Spencer? How long before the Daily Express starts to make sense? How long before I start tidying up after myself?

Overall, I suspect being ancient is probably going to be rubbish, but there are silver linings, of course. My beautiful wife (despite being older than me) seems to have completely avoided aging since I met her, so she's almost getting younger in a comparative sense. And nobody expects me to have mainstream music tastes any more (though to be fair, I never did). And, most important of all, I get cake today.

So, just as I did when I got to my thirties, I'm going to tell myself that these ones doesn't matter - I'm not old until the next multiple-of-ten milestone. Now, about that cake...