Note from Team Cho: Margaret will be back next week. Today’s guest blogger is Lorene Machado, Producer and Director of Margaret’s concert films.
I walked into the Apple Store at the Grove about a month ago and had a horrible revelation. I have nothing else to buy there. Yes, I am the proud owner of a G5, a G4, a powerbook (thanks Margaret), an iPod (thanks Karen and Margaret), and an I-just-about-fucking-everything-you-can-think of. “I” am out of control.
I wasn’t always a Mac addict. In fact, I’m a switcher. My dad’s business was computer-driven back when computers were roughly the size of an airplane hanger. In high school, I keypunched to make gas money and I learned Wordstar, keystroke by painstaking keystroke, on a clunky Altos computer that probably costs as much as my car. Our household spoke fluent DOS.
But yeah, I switched about four years ago, because I wanted to use Apple’s Final Cut Pro editing program. It all started innocently enough. You know, you get that adorable little snowy iBook and before you know it, you’re an iHo. (I’ll never forget my first day with my iBook. I went straight from Frys Computer to an edit bay, and then spent about ten minutes trying to open it from the wrong end. The editor finally came over, flipped it around, opened it, and handed it back to me.) Now I’ve become one of those Mac-geeks that I used to make fun of. In an airport, while my friends are reaching for “People” and the “National Enquirer,” I’m reaching for “MacAddict.” I subscribe to “MacWorld,” and while they claim not to be affiliated with Apple Computers, I have to wonder, because all of their reviews of Mac products are amazingly positive. But despite my suspicions, I read the magazine religiously and find myself nodding, drooling, and uttering “uh huh, uh huh,” with each review.
These Macs have taken over my life. Kind of sad, but true. The T-1 speed wireless signal that runs through my house allows me to stay plugged-in at all times. This is the proverbial blessing and curse. My Macs and the internet provide tremendous freedom. I don’t have to commute and I’m more productive work-wise than I’ve ever been. The problem is that I tend to NOT EVER unplug, even when the workday is over. At least one of these Macs is glowing from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep. And I’m a lifelong insomniac.
That can’t be good. And the thing is, I know I’m not alone. Off the top of my head, I can name at least a dozen people in my life, who, if I send them an e-mail, I know I’m gonna get one back within 5 minutes. You know who you are. And yes, there is safety in numbers.
But I’m slowly trying to pull my life back offline, or at least find a balance. Do I really have to have my powerbook on while I’m on the stairmaster? Isn’t that sort of defeating the purpose? Can I at least try to cook a meal without checking my e-mail? What is SO pressing that it can’t wait until toast toasts?
My friend, Kirk, recently gave me an Utne Reader on “The Art of Rest.” Ironically, it took me a few weeks to make time to read it. Though it’s basically a collection of common sense, there is an inherent truth. The art of leisure is a dying art, and, I think, part of the problem is that we’re so plugged in. And when I say “we,” I most certainly mean “me” (or should I say “I”?)
My one saving grace is my husband. Not just because he’s a cool guy, but he gave me a really super analog dirt bike for Christmas.
The place where we ride is out of cell phone range, and yet I look forward to going there whenever I possibly can. And when I ride, I feel completely free and exhilarated. The last thing I’m thinking of is my computer, any of them. I thought about jokingly putting an Apple sticker on my motorcycle, but no, being unplugged is not a joke. I have to remember that there is a whole life to be lived AWAY from the keyboard.
We all deserve a little break. It’s ok to take a walk, claim your weekend, recline on the couch, treat yourself to a self-programmed film festival. Unplug. It’s going to be ok. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. -Lorene