I had to go to the Apple store this weekend. Mail continued to give me problems, and it finally reached the point where I realized this might be the irregular-shaped mole of my OS, and it was time for a biopsy. The Genius fixed it with some diagnostic this and that, then noticed a cracked top piece on the laptop. It’s no biggie, I’ve been living with it for months, it doesn’t affect anything but the appearance. But the Genius said he’d replace it under warranty. Like the diagnostic and repair, free o’ charge.
This laptop is now…four years old? Maybe three. At least three. I’ve never paid for anything that went wrong with it. Do their warranties ever expire? I asked Alan when I got home. He said I must be in the computer as a Mac slave/superplatinum customer, or just a blogger who always writes about how good their service is. Whatever. Literally: Works for me.
This was the outdoor “lifestyle center” mall, the one in Macomb County, the dog-friendly one. I frequently leave shaking my head over the tragedy surely waiting in the wings. Dogs are like children; it only takes a few misbehaving ones to ruin the experience for everybody. I know the way you teach dogs to behave in public is to take them out in public, but if you weigh 98 pounds and your dog about the same? You better be carrying a cattle prod, lady.
It’s startling to turn the corner in a store and see an afghan hound standing there looking at you, too. But as long as he’s a good boy, no biggie.
While I was there, I stopped in Sur la Table in search of martini glasses. I’m commencing my cocktail education with a new shaker I bought for us this Christmas, and my first project — pomegranate martinis — is coming along, but I lack the stemware for the right presentation. S-la-T has martini glasses, oh goody, and they’re only…$10? A piece. No. They’re also way too big; I want a martini to be relaxing at the end of a long day, not a sledgehammer. So I was interested in this Atlantic piece on the trend toward giant cocktails. Thank God I don’t make enough money to hang out in places like this; I’d be broke and on Skid Row by now.
Although…there was a place in Athens, Ohio that advertised “Texas cocktails” in the mid-’70s. Mr. Magoo’s. It also had a dance floor and played disco music, which was the craze elsewhere but totally uncool in hippieish Athens. The Arab and Iranian guys went there, hoping to pick up one of those famously easy American girls. They never looked comfortable with a fishbowl-size drink in their hands. I wonder if those cheap, rotgut G&Ts ever led to Islamic regret the next day. Is the Pope Catholic? Etc.
Anyway, after sketching out some truly ghastly sounding drink-and-drown tankards, Wayne Curtis notes:
Small cocktails were favored for a simple reason: they stay chilled from beginning to end.
Well, yeah. I mean, you can always have two.
These martini glasses could hold most of a can of Diet Coke. I’ll keep looking.
Some good bloggage today. Jim at Sweet Juniper has been silent of late, entirely understandable:
I think living in Detroit and watching “The Road” in the middle of January is not a good idea.
Yeah, me neither. Funny essay, though.
Finally, I think I’m going to have to back the Saints in the Super Bowl. Sorry, Indiana, although not really, because with my support, they are destined to lose. You’re welcome.
And so Monday hits the ground running. Enjoy yours.