Month: January 2019

Red (not so) Delicious

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 17 Comments
Well, here’s one I can afford.

Apple has surprised a bunch of folks (and maybe itself, too) with a less-than-stellar revenue estimate based largely on sputtering sales of iPhones, particularly in China.

Huh. Did everybody suddenly get tired of skimming the kids’ inheritance for a new handheld computer every couple of years, or what?

I’m not Chinese, and I could do with a new iPhone, but I sure wasn’t excited about pissing away $749 for the cheap one. Or about Face ID. Or about paying the AppleCare vig’ because you just know you’re gonna fumble the pricey little mother somehow — spill your coffee on it, drop it in a toilet, or yardsale onto it while shredding the gnar.

I’ve been sort of keeping an eye casually peeled for a refurbished iPhone 8, but that seems to be a unicorn. Either that or the Chinese got ’em all. Refurbed 7’s are available, but even those run $469.

Think about it. Nearly five hundy for a used phone so bots can ring you up in the middle of the night and pitch insurance to your voicemail. And then sell your number to other bots because the whole selling-insurance thing isn’t working out for them.

Plus the impertinent Xr and Xs map your mug before they will do your bidding. And since you didn’t pony up for a new one, you skinflint penny-pincher, you, that cheapo good-enough 7 or 8 is probably programmed to sell your selfies to a deepfaker who’ll fuse them into a viral video in which you are simultaneously the Sonoran donkey and the person of questionable moral fiber who … who … no, let’s not go there. It’s too early in the year for that image.

Y’think Apple will take a hint and make an iPhone in a proper size at a proper price that doesn’t ask more of you than you ask of it? Nah, me neither. It’s only a few billion.

Anyway, the next iPhone will blow the donkey so you don’t have to. Whoops, I went there. Must be later than we think.

Shake, rattle and roll

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments
That’s not a Wall. Not even the one from “Game of Thrones.” It’s the side patio, as photographed from the dining room, ’cause damme if I’m going outside today.

Don’t expect me to hit the bricks for the first ride of the New Year. We’ve already achieved the expected “high,” there’s a stiff wind out of the ENE, and the snow is coming in sideways.

Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment), has enjoyed a brace of delicious breakfasts and retired to his quarters to map out the year’s strategy on the underside of his eyelids.

Cranking up the internal furnace.

His adjutant, Miss Mia Sopaipilla, has drawn guard duty in Tower One, but as there seem to be no White Walkers within the perimeter — just a few socialist finches hopping around at the base of the maple, looking for a handout — she too is at a reduced state of readiness.

The conditions compelled me to fry up a skillet of my famous two-pepper hash (red bell and Hatch green, with diced red spuds, minced onion and garlic, Mexican oregano and chopped cilantro). Herself topped it off with a couple eggs over easy, and a generous sprinkle of grated Cabot sharp cheddar with a fruit cup on the side helped douse the fire.

Now the question is: How do I sweat that off? There’s not enough snow to do anything with, just enough to do something to me, and I’m kind of over that. But setting up the stationary trainer strikes me as a poor way to kick off a new training log.

Incidentally, I managed 3,309.8 miles on the bike last year, which is probably about a third of what Friend of the Blog Sharon logged. Still, I make it my best year since 2011, when I rode 3,370.2 miles.

And now, Lightnin’ Hopkins and I would like to wish all you cool cats and kittens a rockin’ happy New Year (h/t to the M-dogg for serving up that hot Decca platter). Wear it out. Tear it up.