Oh, they yakkin' all over the Mac-world-of-the-clueless. WWDC failed to meet expectations—which were running abnormally high 'cause of the Bingo game, which, okay, was pretty genius—but in the land of real, we do suffer disappointments, and the heart usually leads the way out. Empathy. Knowing ourselves to be fallible, mortal—human, in other words. We do not think entirely with our intellect. Well, some of us do. On the internet, make that Many.“What happened” Infinite Loop wondered the other day, “to The Steve we know and love?”
So far—and I by no means covered all the bases, god no—I've seen many posts and comments speculating on Steve's strangely subdued Keynote, and I am here to tell you, all of three, that's right, count 'em, three people—some wuss on I think O'Reilly, Bambi and Tera, and moi the bitch—have reported being instantly stricken at Steve's appearance. And we weren't even the hell there.
It was immediately and painfully apparent, on the itty bitty QuickTime screen: the man is skin and bones. When you have had pancreatic cancer, I imagine there are only two reasons to be skin and bones: you are in treatment, or—let us not mince words, here—you are dying. It wasn't long ago that he appeared before the Cupertino City Council, looking fine. I don't want to lose him. I am very clear about that.
But here in the land of the clueless, home of the dense, all sorts of threads have sprung up, discussing all manner of fatheaded reasons Steve might have been a bit thin (“I know a guy who was there, and he said Steve didn't look too thin.” Oh, well, that settles it, then.) not much on-stage (“a new business strategy”) or less than peppy (“giving others a chance to shine.”) (Yeah, right.) Idiotic ideas floated by idiots (“didn't get enough sleep the night before”) along with those really whiny “Has Steve Lost His Magic” headlines. It's quite painful to read.
However much light all this floundering does cast upon two less-than-swift ex-husbands, and a physicist father who took some years to clarify that he had children. Four.
I don't know. Denial? Men are, in general, really weird about death. Oh yeah. Try being my age and looking to date. You'd better be Fit with a capital F, because he's busy outrunning death and he wants company. And the body! I shouldn't even be reading the damn ads, thanks a whole bunch, Craig. Did you know that men feel perfectly free to post, “NO FLAB!” The sexiest man I ever knew, ever ever ever, had not what you'd call an athletic build. Besides which, is this not offensive? Or do you just give in to the sorry fuckers and work out? Just to have a date? With them?
I'm thinking of composing my own ad: I don't bike, I don't hike, at times feel positively sick (gimme a neck rub)—and still I am too sexy for your shirt, jack. Or, as Moms Mabley so famously said, “Only thing an old man can bring me is a message from a young man.”
Then last week this guy posts, “No Weak Sisters!” WTF is a weak sister ... you sexist oinker.
I coulda reached right through the page and given him a sample of weak. But what the fuck kind of slur is that? Talk about turning people into objects, for your own (good luck) gratification. I know a place they sell blow-up dollies ...
Nurture or nature? Even as evidence mounts for the latter, I don't care, guys, shape the fuck up. See if you can't connect your feelings—all those uncomfortable things roiling inside your chest—to one or two of your goddamn thoughts. 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.
We need ya, Steve!
Er, I mean: The Steve looketh gaunt and sayeth not the Just One More Thing, and the people worried amongst themselves. They didst offer up blessings unto Cupertino, and in this way, The Steve did come to know, he is widely and greatly loved.
