Confessions of a Former PC User

Or how I shut the Windows and took a bite of the Apple

A couple months ago, my trusty Dell Inspiron laptop started showing signs of age, the most annoying of which was random malfunctions of the space bar (turns out it's really hard to type documents when the space bar doesn't work reliably). After discussing with The Hubby, I started research into replacements.

Now, I've always been a PC girl. Never really had monumental difficulties with them. But Macs have always intrigued me. Ultimately, I have wound up with PCs because of price, and once I totaled up the cost of machine and required software I once again shelved the thoughts of a Mac. But just as I was about to close the deal on a middle-of-the-road, but perfectly suitable HP Pavilion, my brother-in-law offered me Office for Mac for free (legally, I assure you). Hmm. And I didn't really need Quicken immediately, right? After all the Dell was still functional and I had time to evaluate options for home finance.

Another trip to BestBuy was in order. I looked at the Macbook (not the Pro). I got a demo. I was sold. One white, 13" Macbook please - just a shade over $1,000 including tax (and I got 18-month financing).

Two months later, the verdict is in: I love this thing. I can't believe it took me so long to buy a Mac. Seriously, I might never buy a PC again.

How do I love my Mac? Let me count the ways (in no particular order).

1. Form Factor

Even folks I know who don't like using Macs admit it: Macs are pretty. Apple may not have the monopoly on sleek design, but they seem to do it consistently better than anybody else. The Macbook is no exception. The thing is all slim lines and rounded corners, no jutting edges or weird angles. When closed, the Macbook is truly "closed," as the curved lid meets curved body. Apple calls it "unibody design." The only "gap" is a small finger ridge to grasp when opening the lid. The result is a sleek, slim rectangle with rounded corners, easy to carry, easy to slide into any kind of bag. Closed, the Macbook is just over 1" thick and it weighs less than 5 pounds, so it's actually, you know, portable. I don't feel like I'm carrying a bag of bricks.

Of course like so many things Apple, the battery is internal - no popping it on and off (Apple critics will mention that this only means I can't change the battery myself). There doesn't seem to be a fan - no vents anywhere and I found the lack of whirring a bit unsettling at first. Yet the bottom of the Macbook stays cooler than any laptop with a fan I've used; I can put it directly on my lap and nothing gets uncomfortably warm.

There is no CD drawer - it's a slot much like a car CD player. So no jutting drawer to bump into things, get blocked, or get snapped off. Of course this also means no lame "my cup holder is broken" tech support jokes, but I can live with that.

The keyboard is not quite "solid surface," but the keys are much lower profile and seem "tighter" than the ones on my Dell, which means less wiggling - and they feel simultaneously sleeker and "grippier" to my fingers. The trackpad is sensitive without being slippery; much more precise and reliable than my Dell (I found myself restarting the Dell to reload the trackpad driver on occasion). The Multi-touch functioning is both intuitive and flexible (and it does pinch thing too); I like how just using a two-finger swipe scrolls, instead of having to scroll along the edge of the pad.

At first I couldn't figure out where the power jack was. Where was the standard round hole? After finding the MagSafe Power Adapter, I realized this might be the most genius power attachment ever. You mean when my kid trips over the cord it just breaks away and doesn't drag the machine to the ground? Brilliant!

Okay, I wish it came in something other than white, but when you're nitpicking on the color, you know you don't have a lot to complain about.

2. Battery Life

Apple rates the battery usage of the Macbook at 10 hours. I don't know exactly how long it lasts, but I know I used it for about four hours unplugged and still had 65%-70% of my battery remaining. The Hubby and I watched a forty-minute streaming video at almost full brightness of the screen, and the battery was still full of juice. Despite the fact that I paid for the 9-cell battery on the Dell, I never got more than 4-5 hours of computing out of it, and an hour-long streaming video took it down to the wire. Clear advantage to Apple.

3. Ease of Setup

So I arrive at home with my tiny Mac box, unpack, and settle in for what I think is going to be hours of setup and configuration. Wrong. I turn on the Macbook and it steps me right through initial setup. Oh, Mac has detected a wireless network - do you want to connect? No installation of router drivers or fancy software to get connected. It detected other machines in the network without problem. Plugged in an external hard drive - bingo, files transferred. Printer drivers? Who needs them! First time I wanted to print, the Macbook detected printers on the network. Configuring Mac's Mail application to connect to my Comcast.net account was equally flawless (I will admit that Office 2007 was much better at that on Windows than previous versions of Office). The only thing it won't detect when plugged in is my phone (a Samsung Omnia running Windows Mobile Pro 6.1). Oh, and I did wind up retyping my Outlook contacts, but only because I didn't feel like downloading Thunderbird, installing, exporting, and then importing. I don't have that many contacts to make it worth my time.

4. Responsiveness

Whenever you turn on a Windows machine, or "wake" it up, there is a time lag while Windows gets itself settled. Mac, not so much. Push the power button and it's on in less than 30 seconds. I open the lid and boom! its ready to use, no "resuming" lag. Call it responsiveness, or instant on, or whatever. I don't know what to call it, but I like it.

5. Display clarity

The screen on the Macbook is smaller than my Dell (13" as opposed to 15"), but I sure don't miss those two inches. Maybe because everything is so crisp. The colors pop and it's a pleasure to look at the screen. Everything from web surfing to watching videos is easy on the eyes.

6. Stability

No quirks, no finicky behavior. Nothing hesitates or goes into a weird "hourglass" state. I have not had a dropped wireless signal in the two months I've been using it (something that cannot be said for the PCs in the house). No, "Word has encountered an error and needs to close."It's trite, but really, "it just works."

7. Software

The only "external" applications I've installed are Word and Excel for Mac. I've found everything else that comes with the Mac (Mail, iCal, Address Book, etc). to be perfectly adequate. I have friends who say the Mac versions of Word/Excel pale before the Windows versions, but really, for home use they are just fine (I don't need most of the fancier features to type a letter or create a spreadsheet to track Scout dues).

Where the Mac really shines is the multi-media software. It's long been held that Apple does the "artistic" stuff better. I can't speak to animation or CAD, but for what I need it is outstanding. I have thousands of digital photos. For years, all I've wanted to do is put them together in a slide show with some music. And while I won't say I couldn't figure it out under Windows, I couldn't figure out how to do it both easily and cheaply. I didn't want to learn to be a pro with Photoshop, I just wanted a stinking digital photo slide show.

Not only does the Mac come with all the software necessary (iPhoto, iMovie, iTunes, iDVD), it's all ridiculously simple. I am always wary when a company touts how "easy" it is do something. But armed with nothing except the 10 minute demonstration from the Apple rep at BestBuy and my own determination, I created a slide show with music of our beach vacation in about 15 minutes. I created a slide show for my son's Cub Scout pack of their summer camping in about 30 minutes - and most of that time was spent selecting photos and appropriate music. Put the photos in iPhoto, import them to iMovie, dump in music, select a theme, and hey presto! Semi-professional looking slide show. The folks at Cub Scouts couldn't thank me enough for all my "work." Honesty compelled me to admit it hadn't been that hard - the Mac did all the hard work.

And I love the Dock. I'm just saying.

Conclusion

It's hard for me to categorically say, "Never buy a PC," because really, you have to pick the right tool for the job. But for home computing, you don't need a Cray. If you're a hard-core gamer, a Mac may not be for you. If you're on a really limited budget, Mac may not be for you (I don't think Apple sells anything for $300). But if you've got the cash, and you want computing to be fun instead of work, I highly recommend shelving any suspicions you may have and looking at the Apple line. Heck, it might not cost as much as you think. You might just be pleasantly surprised.

And taking a bit of this Apple won't even get you thrown out of the Garden of Eden.

Pax et Bonum

I recently finished a book called The Saint and the Sultan, by Paul Moses. Moses, a journalist and professor of journalism, seeks to strip away the mythos regarding the visit of St. Francis of Assisi to Sultan Malik al-Kamil during the Fifth Crusade (and believe me, as a graduate of St. Bonaventure University I can tell you the story has a lot of mythos). More than just a historical recount, Moses also seeks to learn what the story can tell us today, especially with the current state of Christian-Muslim affairs.

Even if you aren't Catholic, you've probably heard of St. Francis. You know, the medieval hippie. The guy who talked to animals, and preached a message of peace. The guy who, despite his middle-class upbringing and initial knightly aspirations, ditched it all to live a life of abject poverty, embracing the poor and living how he believed the original Apostles lived, in an attempt to be closer to Jesus. The only saint ever painted by the great artist Rembrandt; the guy who is probably the epitome of "humble."

For Francis, peace just wasn't a really nice thing. It was the only way we could draw closer to God. Francis had been a soldier. He'd been a POW in a war between Perugia and Assisi. He'd been in prison, and it had broken him. His rejection of war was absolute. So when the Fifth Crusade started, Francis was determined to go. Not to fight, but to find a different way to resolve the conflict between Christian West and Islamic East.

See, Francis had a really radical idea. Instead of fighting, why not have a conversation?

Like I said, radical - even by today's standards.

As I said earlier, a lot of mythos has grown up around this story, some of it propagated by the Church and even St. Bonaventure, minister general of the Franciscan order and official biographer of on of Catholicism's most beloved saints. These stories paint a confrontational Francis, who stormed into the sultan's palace, challenged his advisers to a "trial by fire," and convinced al-Kamil to convert.

What really happened? Francis and a couple of followers trudged in their rough brown robes through the battlefield to al-Kamil's palace to preach peace. By all believable accounts, the brothers were welcomed warmly, listened to respectfully, and sent safely back. The sultan did not convert - but he did listen.

Powerful stuff. Radical stuff. Why would this story be embellished and obscured? It wasn't politically correct, that's why.

But close your eyes and picture this scene. A simple, frail man in a rough brown robe speaking earnestly to a richly robed prince. Talking not of war and violence, but peace and love. Speaking not as an opponent, but as a brother. Holding out a hand that did not clasp a sword, but one that would clasp another hand in friendship. After that visit, Francis went back to Italy to exhort his followers. Not to go to war, but to go among the Muslims to live, to "be subject" to them, to love them. For Francis very firmly believed that the only way to truly unite and go beyond the violence was to recognize the Muslims as our neighbors and "love our neighbors as ourselves." Here was a simple man who did not content himself to talking to others in his daily life. He traveled with popes and princes preaching his message, and crossed a battlefield to talk with a prince of his vision of peace.

Powerful stuff. Radical stuff.

Now keep your eyes closed and pretend that this message had blossomed then, instead of "falling on rocky ground" to quote the parable. Pretend that the message had not been whitewashed by a Church intent on a political mission. What would be different today?

It got me thinking. The answer is "a lot." If Christian and Muslim alike had been able to embrace Francis' message of love in the early thirteenth century, what would the world look like today? Would 9-11 or the U.S.S. Cole bombings have happened? Or would we all have learned to get along, to respect each other, to have earnest dialog instead of war?

I did not know this, but turns out that Franciscans sent messengers to both President Bush and leaders in the Middle East before the current Iraqi war to preach peace. What if they had listened?

Francis brought the world a message of hope. He truly and absolutely believe that no conflict could be solved by violence. That the only hope we had was to embrace Christ's message of love and peace. To meet violence with compassion.

It was radical then. It is radical now. But the more I think, the more I hear the stories and diatribe about the proposed Islamic community center near Ground Zero, the more I think it is the only way.

It is our fear that drives the conflict - on both sides. Fear that our way of life and beliefs will be trampled, fear that we will not be free to worship as we believe, fear of the "other." Only learning will free us from that fear. And meaningful learning can only become reality through a spirit of love and peace. Not a fake peace, not "do it my way and we won't have a problem" peace. Peace as Francis envisioned it. He exhorted his brothers to live among the Muslims, to be servants. Not so they would be dominated, not because their beliefs were inferior. So they would have more opportunity to preach peace, to provide a living Gospel example, and convince Muslims that peace was the right way.

Don't get me wrong. Accounts of Islamic terrorism make me sad. Sad on a profound level. Sad that we have not really come as far as we think we have since the Crusades. Sad that we all, Christian and Muslim alike, are still too proud to be "servant" and must mold the world to our vision, even if that means destroying the vision of others.

But I have also come to believe that Francis was right. The only way is to embrace peace - the peace of God, not of men. We must lay aside our pride, and embrace humility in the way Francis did. I don't know that we have to go whole hog, sell our homes and possessions, and start wandering in rough brown robes. But we have to sell our possessions in our heart - sell our pride, our jealousy, our fear, our anger, our possessive desire - to make room for a greater possession - peace and love.

The title of this post, "Pax et Bonum," was a common way to sign things at St Bonaventure University. It is Latin, and means "peace and the good" (roughly). It was a motto for St. Francis and his order - his wish for "peace and the good" for all he met. It should be a motto for us all, right now, in 2010. Imagine the powerful transformation that would occur if we could all look at each other and sincerely wish nothing but peace and good for all, regardless of creed, race, color, or whatnot.

Powerful stuff. Radical stuff.

Pax et bonum.

The Witching Hour

(This is a short story I wrote a couple years ago. In the absence of having anything illuminating to say, I figured I'd post it for your reading pleasure. Feel free to leave comments.)

The sounds reached her first. The soft music of crickets blended with the deep, mellow bass of night frogs in a soothing nocturnal symphony. Occasionally, the hoot of a screech owl accented the song, lending an eerie overtone.

Determined, she pushed through a blackness that muffled like a thick blanket. They had warned her it might be difficult to break through, but she persevered. Finally, the blackness parted and she passed through with a silent sigh of relief.

Pale, cold moonlight bathed the field, glittering off an early frost. Here and there, she saw wisps of steam rising from still-warm soil into the air. Inhaling deeply, she was disappointed she could not smell the sharp bite of the night air, just as she could not feel the night’s coldness. Oh well, they had told her it would be so. Still, it was a disappointment.

Tilting her head, she looked up. Stars glistened like diamonds on a black velvet sky, surrounding a perfect silver full moon. The moon’s position told her it was just midnight, the witching hour, when spirits issued forth in the land of the living. So went the stories the grannies told the young ones, stories that frightened the littlest ones into obedience and amused the older children. If they only knew, she thought wryly.

She suppressed the urge to run through the forest, the trees beckoning her as old friends. Her time was short; only one hour was allotted. They had been quite firm on that point. She had petitioned long and hard for this chance and had no intention of wasting it. The privilege would only be given once. Gathering her resolve, she sped toward the town, leaving a heavier carpet of frost behind her.

More silent than an owl, she glided through the streets, everywhere leaving the trail of frost. Most townspeople slept, but those who still watched felt a chill as she passed and the more superstitious made signs to ward against spirits.

The windows to the great house were dark and the door was barred, but it meant little to her. The only light was that of the moon and her eyes needed no other. All the details of the house matched her memories, except that her portrait was gone from above the fireplace. The portrait of a man, handsome and arrogant, in a gaudy gold frame hung on the wall that had once been graced by an elegant painting of a young, blushing bride in a distinguished black walnut frame. She curled her lip in disdain and carefully mounted the grand staircase. Behind her, the frosty path glittered with an unholy light.

Her children, her beloved boys, slumbered peacefully. The younger cried softly once, and then snuggled deeper into his blanket as if warding off a chill. Tenderly, she stretched out a hand to comfort him, but snatched it back in time. What once would have been a mother’s soothing touch would now only bring death. Her heart ached to weep, but her eyes remained dry. Tears were beyond her now.

The large feather bed was rumpled, but held only one occupant. Shining gold curls fanned across the pillow; a few tendrils lay across the girl’s rosy young cheek. She recognized the sweet features of the upstairs maid. Peaceful breathing came through perfect rosebud lips. A cold fury welled up inside her. How dare she! she thought, slowly extending her killing touch. Yet again she stopped. It would do no good to punish this foolish young thing who was only a momentary amusement. No, her anger and vengeance was reserved for one and one only.

She found him where she expected to, lounging in his study before a dying fire, the heavy velvet drapes drawn tight. His silk robe was open to the waist; a glass of wine was in his hand. He looked like a tiger, satiated after his last meal.

A sudden, violent, icy wind whipped through the room, causing him to start with alarm. The fire gained new life, roaring behind the screen despite the lack of wood. His features froze in terrified surprise as her misty form, clad in a commoner’s white burial shift, slowly materialized before him. She held him in his chair with the sheer force of her will, reveling in his helplessness as a small boy revels in the pain of the insect he is tormenting. He had looked at her that way once in what seemed a far-off dream.

A slow, wicked smile curved her lips. “Hello dear,” she said in a voice colder than the grave. “We have so much to talk about.”

The old servant walked unsteadily down the hall. The master had not been in his bed when the old man had gone to wake him at dawn, as was his custom. He must have dozed off before the fire again. The master had spent many a solitary evening in his study since his wife’s tragic death and the faithful servant worried for his master’s health.

The fire was only ash as the servant opened the door. He could see the master’s hand resting on the arm of his chair. Shaking his white head, the servant move to wake the master and recoiled in horror.

The handsome features were frozen in a hideous mask of terror; the wineglass remained firmly clasped in his hand. He had the look of one who has gazed beyond death. A pious, superstitious man, the servant quickly made the sign to ward off the spirits whose work this had surely been. Thankfully, he had only a moment to gaze on the horrifying sight before the first gentle rays of dawn touched the frozen figure, shattering master and glass into fine shards that settled on the floor, glinting like frost.