“What happened”
Infinite Loop wondered the other day,
“to the Steve we know and love?
Oh, they were in a flap all over the Mac world-of-the-clueless. The WWDC failed to meet expectations—which were running abnormally high, granted, because of WWDC Bingo—but in the land of reality, we do suffer disappointments, and the heart usually finds a way out, via empathy. Via knowing ourselves to be fallible, mortal—human, in other words. We do not think entirely with our left brain. Well, some of us do. On the internet, make that many. Many many.
So far—though I’ve by no means covered all your bases, god no—I’ve read all kinds of speculation on Steve’s subdued Keynote, and I am here to tell you, all of three, that’s right, three people—some wuss on O’Reilly, Bambi-and-Tera, and me—have reported being upset by his actual appearance. And we weren’t even the hell there.
It was immediately and painfully apparent to us, even on that ratty little QuickTime screen, the man is skin and bones. And when you have had pancreatic cancer, I imagine there are only two reasons to be skin and bones: you are in treatment, or—not to put too fine a point upon it—dying.
It wasn’t long ago that Steve appeared before the Cupertino City Council, looking fine. I don’t want to lose him. That was my first thought; I am very clear about that.
But the threads, the threads. Guys falling all over themselves to exchange the usual fatheaded-guy-reasoning. “I know a guy who was there, and he said Steve didn’t look too thin.” This on Slashdot. Oh, like that completely settles it.
Honestly, men will agree with each other about anything. The blind leading the halt and the lame.
Also “It’s a new business strategy” and—how stupid can you get? we ain’t there yet—Steve was merely “giving others a chance to shine.” Or my idiot fave, “He didn’t get enough sleep the night before.”
I don’t know. Men are really weird about sickness and death. Nurture or nature? Even as the evidence mounts for the latter, meaning that supposedly they can’t help it, my reaction remains the same: Guys! Shape the fuck up.
See if you can’t connect a feeling—you know, one of those uncomfortable things rolling around inside your chest—to, hey, a thought. Try not to be total assholes. It was an upsetting sight, we are scared for Mr. Jobs, and we send him heartfelt wishes for good health for many, many years to come.
Or, perhaps more properly: The Steve looketh gaunt and sayeth not Just One More Thing, and the people worried amongst themselves. A blessing was offered up unto Cupertino, and in this way, The Steve came to know, he is widely and greatly loved.
