The joys of computers. Otherwise known as mac vs. P.C. FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT.

I have too many computer nerds in my life.

Computer nerds hate macs (because they won't let them meddle in the inner workings of their computers), and I've been taught to have a bias against macs, too. Not that I could do any worthwhile meddling in my computer even if I had the inclination--I don't have the skills for that--but I am married to somebody, and know many others who do have the skills for it. And they have definitely meddled helpfully on my behalf in the past. If I had a mac, and it broke, I'd have to ship it off to have somebody else meddle with it, and if there is one thing I am terrible at, it is getting up the gumption to box something up to mail and then go mail it. So. Much. Work.

If packages still looked like this, I might find it easier to give a bother. 

As far as aesthetics go, macs are pretty lovely. I get that. I myself like running my grubby paws along the perfectly designed curves of a mac when I get the chance. The moment I try to use it, though, it turns into this techno-farce where I can't find the browser, minimizer, or "new tab" buttons, and people are alternating yelling at me, or laughing. I can't find these buttons because they are either too obvious, in a place on the screen I'm not used to, or they don't instinctively look to me like the things they're supposed to be.

What is happening. 

I am trying to learn, though, because I feel there are enough macs floating around, I'll probably have to use one for some reason at some point in time, so I should know how.

But anyway, while I can appreciate the physical beauty of a mac, my computer-oriented friends can't see it over the glaring ugliness of its uselessness to them and incredible mark'd-up price.

Seriously? I could buy my little '02, 31mpg Saturn over again with the money I'd save getting the pc instead.

Something that really frustrates me about this is that in my observations of mac users, they seem like computer illiterates. They're going for the flash and prettiness rather than usefulness. I mean, maybe not having to worry about simple repairs and updates is worth $5900 to them (given the previous computer comparison). But yow. Should it be? Maybe learning to do those things should be on par with learning to change your own oil or a tire.

Now, maybe some mac users just aren't interested in computers enough to want to have the ability to mess with the inner workings of theirs. In that case, a mac is great for them, and that makes sense to me.

But for somebody who has some programming knowledge, or any inclination awhatsoever of learning anything about computers, having a mac is taking that ability away from them. To compare to my life, it would be as if somebody put me on top of a horse, but kept the reins themselves and would only let my horse walk and trot while I sat there, doing nothing. It's called ponying, and it sucks if you're over 5 years old and can actually control a horse yourself.

Pictured: a mac user being ponied by Steve Jobs in a tank-top. 

Or perhaps they have gotten used to the ease of having any problems be somebody else's problem, so they just give off a devil-may-care attitude. Considering that both kinds of computers are prevalent in our society, though, I think people should be able (for the sake of being well-rounded and useful) to know their way around both macs and pcs. Even the people I know who hate macs can generally still figure one out if they have to. It does not seem to work both ways, though.

Case in point? A story from my life (which also proves that, in general, not enough people are computer-savvy as should be, given society):

I applied to be an independent contractor with a petcare company here in Pittsburgh. To make this official and everything I had to go to an orientation for the company at the owner's house and sign paperwork and things like that. While there the owner took us through a powerpoint on her pc about the duties and legal/tax ramifications of being an independent contractor. This woman herself was obviously not any sort of a computer person, but we plugged away at that powerpoint. At some point she accidentally closed the program and couldn't find it again. She hadn't minimized it (I could see the desktop), but she was at a complete loss about what to do.

"My daughter made this and got it set up," she apologized. And then went single-clicking merrily on her recycle bin, browser, and anything else within reach of her pointer. Nobody said anything. There were about 15 people of various ages and educational backgrounds sitting around that table, and nobody said a word. This woman continued clicking on useless things (ignoring her start menu button) for a moment more as we stirred uncomfortably. Finally one kind, skinny young man, attempting to be helpful and break the awkward silence offered "yeah, sorry, I dunno: I just have a mac."

Some others nodded agreement with this statement, and I waited another moment, not believing that it was possible that I was meant to be the saviour of these people. Surely there was another, better qualified? But no. It was up to me. Me. The girl who gets panicky when Avast! says anything to me other than "Welcome to Avast! Your virus database has been updated."
The unexpected hero.

"Try searching for it?" I offered, tentatively.

"Huh. Where?" she asked.

"In your start menu."

"Where?"

"On the bottom left, there."

She attempts to open Word, and I begin to feel more confident in myself.

"No, sorry--far left. The little window icon." I got up and walked over to my new boss to point out the icon for her to click.

"How do I search?"

"Uhm, just start typing," I said.

"What do I type?" she asked.

"Oh. What was the file name?" I said.

"I don't know. My daughter made it."

There was a pause while I gathered my wits.

"Ah," I said. "Well, she probably put the company name in it, right? Try typing that."

We eventually found it, and I was hailed a computer genius and sat down to accolades I did not feel I had earned.

All this to say, if in this day and age of ubiquitous computer-use, I am the most computer literate person at a table of 15 other people (who definitely use computers of some sort), then something is wrong.

Pictured: me on a computer 

(also, if you don't already know Hyperbole and a Half, go remedy that right now).

Disclaimer: I have heard rumours that macs are great for artsy people and have some wonderful programs for them, but I have a suspicion that there are plenty of those programs (or their equivalents) for pcs to be found online and downloaded without having to spend thousands more on a mac. I might very well be mistaken on this point, though.

ADDENDUM: A friend (whose brother used to work for Twitter) just pointed out to me that lots of computery people do use macs. That is true. If I understand correctly, though, while they are able to make some great things with the programs mac provides, they are still more limited because they can't improve upon those programs or write their own to use on the mac.
So yes, lots of computer people put macs to good use. But their creativity is still somewhat limited.
Also, Twitter is in California, so of course they use macs.

XKCD speaks about Mac programming tools here.

Work Experiences, Vol 2

Aaannnd we're back with this episode of "Jobs I Have Had".
I realized I'd forgotten in my other post an important job I worked BEFORE retail, so I'll do that one today, and retail next time.

Milkmaid

This was a fun one. I worked for about two years, off and on, for our neighbours in PA at their dairy farm. We got to know them because my parents actually bought our house from them. They have a small dynasty starting with Dick and Blanche (who are close to 90 and probably healthier and more limber than a lot of 20 year olds), going down through Dwight, Dean, and their wives, all the way to Dean's two sons, and a couple babies and a wife that belong to the youngest of Dean's sons. Also a lot of cows.
They hired me as a milker. If I got the evening shift I ended the day covered in basically every fluid a cow can secrete. If I got the 4am shift, I started the day with all those fluids, plus the 6 top country songs Froggy plays at 4am when there are only farmers to hear them.

Actually, one of my favourite work experiences was a 4am milking on a Christmas morning. I finished up around 9:30am and Dad drove me home to an excellent breakfast and presents over snow-covered fields as the sun was rising in a blue sky and everything was glistening and new.

 

It looked kind of like this. Only bigger and brighter. 

Usually if I worked the 4am shift I would end up milking beside a silent and crusty neighbour we used to have. He was also the one responsible for Froggy on repeat.

If I worked later in the day I either got to work with Blanche (who was a delight), or a couple hispanic guys. Sometimes I'd hit the jackpot and it would be both. On those days Blanche and I would sing showtunes and piano-pounding hymns and laugh at everything and the hispanic guys, understanding only every 15th word we'd say, would have quiet, whispering conversations about us, shrug, and go back to the milking.

Sometimes there would be doughnuts, which we would happily consume with one rubber-gloved hand while the other was busy wiping manure off of a cow's teats.

Here is a cow with clean teats and a milking machine attached.

We'd drive the cows in (when I was there, there was space and machines for 6 at a time on each side of the milking parlour--I think they've since moved up to 12 on each side in their new parlour), clean them off with towels and "dip" (I forget the chemical make-up of this dip)--and sometimes powerful jets of water for particularly tenacious clods of poop--and then hook up the milking machine. Then you run back and forth while that set was being milked, keeping the tubes all un-twisted, and sometimes rescuing a milker and redoing it if a cow kicked it off and soiled her udder.
Towards the end of the milking we'd get troublesome cows that needed injections of oxytocin to let down their milk, and cows with mastitis (that milk got collected in separate containers and didn't end up with the stuff you drink). Some of these needed to be milked by hand (my favourite part!). 

 

Do you SEE the delight in this woman's face?

 

Sometimes Dean would rush through, always yelling and cheerful, with one sinewy arm clad in a vet's shoulder-length plastic glove, and proclaim that he had to go "breed a cow."

That meant this.

Sometimes I got put in charge of feeding all the baby calves. This meant mixing formula into some of the milk and either pouring it into buckets for the bigger calves, or actually bottlefeeding the very young ones. I was good at teaching the newborns to accept bottles. 

 

I would also clean out these little huts.

Funny story from my time spent milking:

So in Tennessee I had made a friend in an Irish dance group who was engaged to a guy in an Irish music group (they were good). She'd given me a t-shirt from her dude's group. The group was called "Kula" which means "brotherhood" in Gaelic or something. So I had this t-shirt with a big celtic knot, and then "KULA: Explosive Irish Music" on the back. One day I'm wearing this t-shirt in the barn and milking away happily with a couple of the hispanic guys. I notice they are looking at me and giggling. Finally one points to my shirt and says, "Kula. What that?"
I explain my t-shirt-acquiring story to him, and what it means in Gaelic. The two guys exchange looks and grin some more, showing bright and happy teeth through dark skin and some cow poop and dip.
"Kula not mean brotherhood," he says.
"What?" I said.
"In Spanish," he said. "In Spanish, kula mean this," and he turns around and points vaguely to his rear end.
I never could get the internets to tell me exactly what the definition was, but I never wore the shirt again if I knew there would Spanish-speaking people around.