So you’re finally leaving us, white MacBook. I guess this day was inevitable; can’t say I’m all that broken up about it. Heck, the sooner you move out, the better.
Still, we had some good times, didn’t we? Yeah. Remember when you were all new and polished, and you showed me how much faster your Core Duo processor was than ‘ol iBook’s PowerPC ticker? That was awesome. And you were so sexy — your smooth, sculpted shell gleaming under the sun, the perfect size for fun on the go.
And boy did your shell come off easy. I’ll never forget the night I swapped out your memory and gave you a new hard drive. It lasted what, three minutes — but it was the best time I’d ever had doing that.
But then you started to crack up. And I mean, in the bad way. I remember how I watched you slowly shed that thin strip of veneer (why do all my memories of you have to do with things being peeled off?) between your shell and your keyboard, until they seemed almost completely separated. You just sat around like that. We’d have lunch with friends, and they’d ask “dude, why does your laptop have a big hole in it?” I’d get so embarrassed.
So we went to the Apple store, and they gave you a new body (isn’t plastic surgery awesome?) and you were good as new. And that’s where I saw her — an aluminum MacBook Pro. She was faster than you, had more memory…and she had the hottest bod I’d ever seen. She wore one single, seamless piece of aluminum, all the way around. The fact that she was also a little skinnier and smarter than you didn’t hurt either.
That aluminum MBP (that’s her nickname) and I are together now. And since we got together, there are even thinner — way thinner — laptops out there; the new MacBook Air is smarter, lighter and faster than you ever were. And less expensive to be with. And yeah, her screen is two inches smaller (her big sister has the same size screen as you, but is $300 more to get to know than you were), but I’m not really into big screens. Heck, my iPad (yes, I’ve been seeing an iPad on the side) has a smaller screen than the MBA and I like her just fine.
It’s not your fault. You tried to keep up — as the years went by, you became faster, smarter; even your endurance improved. But you’ve looked almost exactly the same for five years now, and that white shell of your has been around for, what, ten years? I know, it was all the rage when you were young. But look around — white is about as fashionable as a mullet now.
You’re a dinosaur, white MacBook. It’s time for you to go. And take that silly iPod Classic with you.
