Have you seen the commercial for the new Macintosh -- the one with the two guys standing in big cardboard boxes? The younger, more energetic guy, obviously a Mac, jumps out of his carton, ready to get to work.
The PC character, looking a bit chagrined, stays in his box.
It seems he can't get started until he gets some additional software and other equipment.
So sad.
"And so not true," my daughter tells me.
She bought a Dell, which came with all software she ordered and was really ready right out of the box.
No waiting.
No additional equipment.
No hassle.
She was using it 10 minutes after it arrived.
I, on the other hand, was not.
I took my gorgeous new iMac out of the box and plugged it in, but had no idea what to do next.
The computer did come with lots of software (iTunes; iCal; iPhoto; iDVD; iMovie; iChat; Garage Band, whatever that is; and something that made little widgets fly all over my screen), but I didn't need that.
What I needed was to open my old files, which I couldn't do because the computer didn't have the programs I had been using and wouldn't use the programs I did have.
It seemed I would need all new software, which ended up costing more than the hardware.
I may be a dyed-in-the-wool Mac person, but I'm also technologically impaired.
I called my Mac guru immediately.
Seven-and-a-half hours and $300 later he had transferred all of my files to the new iMac, connected me to my e-mail provider, imported my bookmarks and address book, installed a king's ransom in software, and given me a fast tour of OS X.
"You really need to take a course in this operating system," he advised.
OK, that was expensive but worth it, I thought.
True, it was a little more complicated than the commercial suggested, but I was functional.
That's what really counted, right? Well, no, not right.
It would have counted if I had been functional, but I wasn't.
Since my zip and jazz disks wouldn't work with the iMac, I now needed an external hard drive to back up my files.
So, I ordered a one on line, got a lemon, returned it, got another lemon, returned it, and finally bought one for twice as much money at the Apple store.
That took three weeks.
Well, at least I had Windows, or so said another Mac commercial.
My new iMac was also a PC with an Intel chip.
Pretty amazing, huh? That's what I thought.
But I was wrong.
The iMac didn't come with Windows.
I would have to buy it if I wanted it, as well as a program that allowed me to switch back and forth between OS X and Windows.
More money; more hassle.
I decided to forgo Windows.
The good news was that I was going to get a $179 rebate on my iPod, which, quite honestly, I would never have ordered; but it had come with the computer.
By this time, I should have expected the procedure to be more complicated than advertised.
In order to get my rebate, I needed information from the UPC label on the original carton.
Unfortunately, I had thrown out the carton because I had no place to store it.
The Apple representative reluctantly agree to fax me a form; but, since neither my fax machine nor my fax software worked with the new iMac, I had to have it sent to Kinko's.
There is much more to this story, but the point is that, three months, four phone calls, and several pieces of mail, I still have not received the rebate.
What mattered most was that I was able to work, at last -- if I didn't count printing.
The new computer didn't seem to like my laser printer, which it insisted on calling Flash Paper instead of LaserJet 2100 M.
Flash Paper had something to do with Macromedia's DreamWeaver.
Nothing made it go away, including dumping all Macromedia programs in the trash.
I called Apple support.
The tech was baffled and suggested I delete the printer.
Then, he sent me to Macromedia, who was also baffled and referred me to HP.
HP concluded that the computer was not recognizing my printer, and, since mine was about to die of old age, I should immediately upgrade to a new printer for only $330.
Setting up the printer was supposed to be so simple a child could do it.
Unfortunately, I could not.
The computer was still calling it Flash Paper.
I called HP.
It seems I did not have the correct printer drivers; but through the magic of an HP Macintosh specialist, the iMac eventually recognized the printer, changed its name to HP LaserJet 1320, and managed to eradicate Flash Paper.
All that remained was to figure out my new software.
My Web guru (not to be confused with my Mac guru) came over to tinker with DreamWeaver, which was not allowing me to upload files to my Web site.
After six hours of troubleshooting, she gave up in despair.
I called Macromedia again.
Macromedia had been purchased by Adobe, so it was difficult to talk to a real person.
But, by the third try, I reached a very determined DreamWeaver support person in India.
She finally discovered a space in front of the hard drive's name (don't ask me how it got there).
Take out the space, rename the hard drive, reenter all the information, do this, do that; and, poof, I could upload files.
Adobe Creative Suite was another problem.
It seems Mac's new Intel chip isn't entirely compatible with Adobe products.
I stumbled around InDesign for days before I gave up.
I didn't even try Adobe Illustrator, Photoshop, or Acrobat.
Instead, I signed up for a semester-long course in Adobe Creative Suite.
With my senior discount, it was only $117.
While I was waiting to start my course, I fired up old faithful - Microsoft Word - and got back to work.
It was a heady feeling - until ...
the screen froze and would not unfreeze, no matter what I did.
I broke down and called Apple.
All Apple representatives were, of course, busy assisting other customers, but my call was very important to them.
At last, a very humorless Mac tech disabled something called Bluetooth, which apparently thought I was wireless.
Apple continues to show the Mac guy getting the better of old, befuddled PC, but I don't watch them any more.
I want to write the advertising agency that creates those clever ads and suggest that the copywriter might should use the product before he does his next storyboard.
I want to send a registered letter to Steve Jobs describing my experience in vivid detail.
I want to submit this piece to PC World, post it on the Internet, and splash it all over my own Web site.
I want to plug in my old, decrepit "blue box" Mac and forget my desire to upgrade.
Worst of all, I want to admit to everyone who uses a PC that they might be right after all.
The PC character, looking a bit chagrined, stays in his box.
It seems he can't get started until he gets some additional software and other equipment.
So sad.
"And so not true," my daughter tells me.
She bought a Dell, which came with all software she ordered and was really ready right out of the box.
No waiting.
No additional equipment.
No hassle.
She was using it 10 minutes after it arrived.
I, on the other hand, was not.
I took my gorgeous new iMac out of the box and plugged it in, but had no idea what to do next.
The computer did come with lots of software (iTunes; iCal; iPhoto; iDVD; iMovie; iChat; Garage Band, whatever that is; and something that made little widgets fly all over my screen), but I didn't need that.
What I needed was to open my old files, which I couldn't do because the computer didn't have the programs I had been using and wouldn't use the programs I did have.
It seemed I would need all new software, which ended up costing more than the hardware.
I may be a dyed-in-the-wool Mac person, but I'm also technologically impaired.
I called my Mac guru immediately.
Seven-and-a-half hours and $300 later he had transferred all of my files to the new iMac, connected me to my e-mail provider, imported my bookmarks and address book, installed a king's ransom in software, and given me a fast tour of OS X.
"You really need to take a course in this operating system," he advised.
OK, that was expensive but worth it, I thought.
True, it was a little more complicated than the commercial suggested, but I was functional.
That's what really counted, right? Well, no, not right.
It would have counted if I had been functional, but I wasn't.
Since my zip and jazz disks wouldn't work with the iMac, I now needed an external hard drive to back up my files.
So, I ordered a one on line, got a lemon, returned it, got another lemon, returned it, and finally bought one for twice as much money at the Apple store.
That took three weeks.
Well, at least I had Windows, or so said another Mac commercial.
My new iMac was also a PC with an Intel chip.
Pretty amazing, huh? That's what I thought.
But I was wrong.
The iMac didn't come with Windows.
I would have to buy it if I wanted it, as well as a program that allowed me to switch back and forth between OS X and Windows.
More money; more hassle.
I decided to forgo Windows.
The good news was that I was going to get a $179 rebate on my iPod, which, quite honestly, I would never have ordered; but it had come with the computer.
By this time, I should have expected the procedure to be more complicated than advertised.
In order to get my rebate, I needed information from the UPC label on the original carton.
Unfortunately, I had thrown out the carton because I had no place to store it.
The Apple representative reluctantly agree to fax me a form; but, since neither my fax machine nor my fax software worked with the new iMac, I had to have it sent to Kinko's.
There is much more to this story, but the point is that, three months, four phone calls, and several pieces of mail, I still have not received the rebate.
What mattered most was that I was able to work, at last -- if I didn't count printing.
The new computer didn't seem to like my laser printer, which it insisted on calling Flash Paper instead of LaserJet 2100 M.
Flash Paper had something to do with Macromedia's DreamWeaver.
Nothing made it go away, including dumping all Macromedia programs in the trash.
I called Apple support.
The tech was baffled and suggested I delete the printer.
Then, he sent me to Macromedia, who was also baffled and referred me to HP.
HP concluded that the computer was not recognizing my printer, and, since mine was about to die of old age, I should immediately upgrade to a new printer for only $330.
Setting up the printer was supposed to be so simple a child could do it.
Unfortunately, I could not.
The computer was still calling it Flash Paper.
I called HP.
It seems I did not have the correct printer drivers; but through the magic of an HP Macintosh specialist, the iMac eventually recognized the printer, changed its name to HP LaserJet 1320, and managed to eradicate Flash Paper.
All that remained was to figure out my new software.
My Web guru (not to be confused with my Mac guru) came over to tinker with DreamWeaver, which was not allowing me to upload files to my Web site.
After six hours of troubleshooting, she gave up in despair.
I called Macromedia again.
Macromedia had been purchased by Adobe, so it was difficult to talk to a real person.
But, by the third try, I reached a very determined DreamWeaver support person in India.
She finally discovered a space in front of the hard drive's name (don't ask me how it got there).
Take out the space, rename the hard drive, reenter all the information, do this, do that; and, poof, I could upload files.
Adobe Creative Suite was another problem.
It seems Mac's new Intel chip isn't entirely compatible with Adobe products.
I stumbled around InDesign for days before I gave up.
I didn't even try Adobe Illustrator, Photoshop, or Acrobat.
Instead, I signed up for a semester-long course in Adobe Creative Suite.
With my senior discount, it was only $117.
While I was waiting to start my course, I fired up old faithful - Microsoft Word - and got back to work.
It was a heady feeling - until ...
the screen froze and would not unfreeze, no matter what I did.
I broke down and called Apple.
All Apple representatives were, of course, busy assisting other customers, but my call was very important to them.
At last, a very humorless Mac tech disabled something called Bluetooth, which apparently thought I was wireless.
Apple continues to show the Mac guy getting the better of old, befuddled PC, but I don't watch them any more.
I want to write the advertising agency that creates those clever ads and suggest that the copywriter might should use the product before he does his next storyboard.
I want to send a registered letter to Steve Jobs describing my experience in vivid detail.
I want to submit this piece to PC World, post it on the Internet, and splash it all over my own Web site.
I want to plug in my old, decrepit "blue box" Mac and forget my desire to upgrade.
Worst of all, I want to admit to everyone who uses a PC that they might be right after all.