Hi, Boomers,
I think I have a computer hangover.
I made it through the new year’s weekend of excessive, very excessive tango dancing in San Diego at the annual new year’s festival with more than my fair share of sore feet and ankles. I never know what to expect from tango festivals; that is to say, I never know who is going to show up except my immediate posse of friends (both male and female) because we share our tango plans ahead of the event.
I attend these festivals for three reasons: to dance excessive tango for days on end; to sell my book (Sixty, Sex, & Tango, Confessions of a Beatnik Boomer), and to commune with good tango friends from around the U.S. and, hopefully, to meet new people and I can guarantee that I always do meet the most interesting people along the way. I bring ten books and I usually sell out. My dearest friend, Anne Leva-Midon (Tangoleva.com) sets up her booth of fabulous tango clothes and she lets me display my books. We hang out during the day and talk and meet all kinds of tango addicts.
This year the dancing was tremendous fun and energetic and the music was outstanding. All the D.J.’s were terrific. The weather was absolutely beautiful around Point Loma. The skies were crystal clear blue and the temperature had a nice snap to it during the day. And, as always, the company was sublime. I even took a side trip to La Jolla to revisit my old stomping grounds. I lived in that village for two years sometime in my past and used to vacation there during the married years. The view from the Cove always sends a chill up my spine. At one time in the not too distant past, I used to swim in the Master’s Race from the Cove out to a buoy a half a mile out. The mile swim in a race with other women my age was always the greatest physical challenge for me – not just for the mile but I could get seasick if the waves were too rigorous. I’m a wimp for sure.
And now I’m sitting in the Apple Store in Santa Monica waiting for my turn at the Genius Bar. My CD player doesn’t work. And, yes, it’s the beginning of a new year but it’s the same old relationship with Apple. This is the third time in a week that I have frequented this store and I’m wondering if I’m actually visiting the people who work in the Apple Store because I like them or do I really have problems with my computer. Sometimes I do have a problem and sometimes I don’t – as in I’ve asked a dumb questions in the past and wasted genius people’s time behind the counter.
But of late, the real intrigue, the real relationship has to do with that 11 inch, newly designed MacBook Air. I adore it. I thought I adored the IPad and I thought a lot about the IPad – probably more than I thought about any man in my life. But now I am only thinking about the Air. Sexy comes to mind. I pet it on the display table; I fondle it and lift it up to experience the lightness. I place my fingers on the keyboard and breathe slowly.
Do I want the Air because I’m looking for something exciting to celebrate 2011? Is it because I’m going to travel a lot in the new year and want something lighter? What is it with me and the compact, light sensuous MacBook Air? Is it a replacement for a boyfriend because I’ve given up on finding boyfriends? I feel I have a real disorder surrounding my desire. If the truth be told, my MacBook, my solid, beautiful 13 inch black MacBook still has life and love left in it. It has six months more to go before I we celebrate our third year relationship. It has been my constant and sustaining companion through thick and thin, through writing and editing my book, through travels to Curacao, to Denver, to Portland to Santa Fe, to Park City, to the monthly trips to Las Vegas. I even sleep with it sometimes. No, I don’t cuddle with it in bed, however, because that would take it over the top.
I feel guilty. I feel fickle. I feel I’m cheating. I’ve just got to live with it without my Air. My gleaming silver Air. But it’s faster in speed than my black MacBook. But they don’t make black Macbooks anymore. I’m surly going to have to make my peace with my present computer state. After all, I brought in the new year with it and we were happy together. I’ll think about it tomorrow at Tara. Good night, Scarlett.
I’m a day late, but a happy new year to all. Peace, joy and good health and let’s add some needed prosperity.
namaste
joan