Have a blast off

If you've been following this blog for any length of time, and if you have perhaps you should use the Google to find better ways to kill time during the pandemic, you probably already know I have a somewhat compulsive side to my otherwise sparkling personality.

Breaking Bad. Bruce Springsteen. Sourdough bread. Las Vegas (in the before times).

One other quasi-obsession I have that I don't blog about much is space movies. Specifically ones about the golden age of the space race: the Gemini, Mercury and Apollo programs. There's been a lot of great movies about them: Apollo 13. First Man. The Right Stuff.

Going to change the subject for a sec, but I'll thread the needle on the back end. Here's the thing: we have way too many streaming services. The house is lousy with them: Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime. Disney +. So when Apple TV+ rode into town, I wasn't itchin' to sign up and pay yet another monthly fee.

But as they say in the ad biz, nothing beats free. And come to find out that's exactly what Apple TV+ is. Seems they have a promotion going on for a free year's subscription within 90 days of purchasing any Apple device. Like, say, the wife's new MacBook Air.

Truth be told, the original shows on Apple TV+ haven't been getting what you'd call rave reviews. But the one that, predictably, caught my attention was For All Mankind.

Space? Astronauts? 10 hours? Apollo program? I'm in.

So for the past couple of days I've been bingeing it. I know, I'm as shocked as you are. And I"m here to tell ya it's really, seriously great. The premise is simple: what if the Russians had beat us to the moon, and the space race never stopped? It's alternative history fiction built around the space program.

And for all my show biz pals at the studios, listen up. It's also made me decide that, more than anything, I want to have a bit part in a space movie.

I want to be one of the engineers wearing a short sleeve, white shirt, skinny tie and thick frame glasses sitting at one of the rows of those bulky, green, Mission Control computers.

And I'm not looking for a showy, star turn. In fact the only thing I want to say is one line. During the obligatory pre-launch checklist scene, when it's my turn I want to bark out: "It's a go."

Start to finish, like the best series, it's a rollercoaster ride with unexpected twists and turns, surprising revisionist history and characters you can't help care about. It's making you cry and cheer one minute, gutting you the next.

So I'll be counting down until next season launches, and I'm sure I'll happily binge it a few more times before then.

My advice to you? Don't screw the pooch by missing it. Watch and enjoy.

Godspeed.

Wired

The laptop I use everyday, in fact the one I'm writing this post on right now, is a 17" MacBook Pro. Or as they say in the laptop biz, a dinosaur.

I bought it the minute it was announced in January of aught 9, which for those of you doing the math means—in technology years—it's as old as dirt.

The reason I had my credit card fired up and ready to buy this laptop the first day it was announced was because of its big, beautiful screen. I have terrible vision—in fact it's even gotten worse in the time you've been reading this. The idea of a screen this large was very appealing. I thought this kind of real estate would be much easier to see and work on.

But that was then and this is now. So even though it's bigger, it's not a retina screen with impossibly great resolution. The battery drains faster than a seventy-year old with a urinary tract infection. And I can't upgrade the apps and operating system because the processor is too old and slow.

I think it's obvious to even the most skeptical readers (pauses to laugh hysterically at the thought of anyone reading this) it's about time I got myself a bitchin' new state-of-the-art, high-tech, super-expensive 15" MacBook Pro. Only because Apple discontinued the 17" version—did I mention dinosaur?

As fate would have it, before she went to college my beautiful daughter, who's getting a quality out-of-state tuition education in the middle of the Iowa cornfields, unexpectedly got a brand new 15" MacBook Pro. So she generously gave me her 13" MacBook Air she wasn't going to be using.

Now, even though it's obviously a lot smaller screen than I'm used to, it's a higher resolution so it's actually easier on my eyes. Which means I get to write sentences like that last one using the word "it's" three times.

I've also found because of the smaller size, I don't (can't) have as many windows open at once. So I don't waste a lot of time toggling between them. It forces me to focus. Turns out that's a good thing. Who knew?

Of course, the only exercise I was getting on a daily basis was lifting the 17" laptop, which weighed—true fact—350 lbs. At least it felt like it. The MacBook Air weighs next to nothing, hence the name.

So what does any of this have to do with the photo of tangled computer cables? Well, I have to get my info from the old laptop onto the new(er) one. To do that, I can connect them to each other, or the MB Air to my backup drive. Problem is I don't have the cables to do it.

In spite of my cable drawer looking like snakes on the floor in Raiders Of The Lost Ark, the one cable I need isn't among them. Because my laptop's so old, there's no USB to USB cord to be found. Or Firewire to USB cord. I'm not even sure which cable I need: Lightning, Thunderbolt, HDMI, DVI or Magnum PI (look it up).

It's a lot of tech mumbo-jumbo for a task that should be easier than getting into city college. Thanks Obama.

Anyway, the MB Air is a few years old now, so maybe it's time for me to just bite the bullet and pony up for that brand new bitchin' laptop after all.

But only if the cables are included.