It started like any other love…intrigue, a brief period of unrequited longing, excuses made to visit the college computer store and lame attempts at small talk with the salespeople. A fond touch here. A wistful glance there. Sweet subtle smiles.
It took a few months, but after flirting and longing and more flirting, she (of course, because, let’s face it…I was irresistible, too, with my newly minted credit card) came home with me. It was 1991. We had a bold exciting new love that seemed brighter than any teeth whitening possible in Hollywood. A future together that could match any fairytale. We would take the world by storm: she, with her life altering 4 megs of RAM and a stunning rack of 80 megs that others surely coveted, and me – creative ideas galore and a lustful eye determined never to resort to a photocopier again for any desktop publishing needs. We had chemistry. And hope. And energy.
We moved into together. Became deeper enthralled with each other. I learned every detail of her – the good, the bad, the tedious. Stuck together like glue, day after day, we were enmeshed. But best of all is how alike we were: workhorses with innovative ideas. In the first few years alone, we churned out more creatively than I had ever imagined. She had led me, it seemed into a new world filled with bold new thinking and genius design; a world that promised artists and educators new tools and a support network that made our work not just simpler, but astoundingly better. She glowed and I sat wistfully in the afterglow admiring her.
As the years ticked by, I came to rely on her more and more. She was upgraded as the years of birthing new ideas had taken its toll on her and the world had become a faster and slicker place. We had been through so much, that I was happy to be there for her in that time of need – I opened my wallet and dug deep. Though it was expensive, I knew we both needed this – our creativity depending on it, and most importantly, my life as an artist rested so squarely on her daily ability to perform, that it was, in some way, a no-brainer. Besides, the world loved her. Enamored by her ability to “think different” and propped up by a new generation of hipster creatives, everywhere we went, people had nothing but glowing praise for her. She was perfect. And as much as she had changed over the years, it all seemed for the best. Things were getting better all the time. And there was no doubt that with her help I could create more than I had ever dreamed of.
The 2000’s loped along and we made three records together. We wanted to explore video together, so we upgraded some more. We worked. And played. And spent more time together all the time.
But little by little, I had noticed some real changes in our relationship. There was no doubt as the years had passed that my partner needed more from me all the time. She was in constant maintenance mode. Yes, she had definitely become sexier. But I needed to invest constantly in things for her just to keep her involved in our work together. It seemed that every six months, there was something new. The overhauls happened more frequently and were more expensive. And our coworkers (the third-party developer types), who had become an enormous part of work together never seemed to get the information they needed in time to stay in step with her. Our relationships started to break down. She would not speak to our education friends. She became stingy. We had long periods where she would not work unless more upgrades were done. All the while, the bills kept coming. She was spending me out of house and home, but had become less dependable. She had become more demanding than I ever could have expected.
She had officially crossed over to “High Maintenance.” If we didn’t have so much history together, I might even call her a bitch.
It was a difficult realization for me, but I’ve accepted this week that our relationship is over. I need a partner in my life, not a party girl, and lately money is tight, so there’s no doubt that I can’t even really afford to keep her around. I also don’t want to keep in
vesting in her when it’s clear that she has no interest in our future unless she calls all the shots. This is just not a model that I think any musician really believes in. And I can’t wait forever for her to get her shit together while she’s out playing with her toys.
Our cooling off period was a good time for me. I invested in some beautiful instruments, which have done my career, my playing and my bank account a lot of good; and I spent some time speed dating with others who look really promising.
Apple and I have broken up. But don’t feel sorry for me.