While I grind out the soul crushing weeks until I can actually have my iPad I’ve been waiting for that one special iPad article that would unleash my creative rage. The blog post with that certain something that would push it above the general morass of inanity that we’ll be screaming about on Ye Olde Angry Mac Bastards podcast this week. Thank Satan for that cranky old fuckwit Dave Winer for stepping up to the plate for me. The headline is: Is iPad a game-changer?
Of course, with that headline you know you’re in for a world of stupid. First we have the classic troll method of presenting your thesis in the form of the negative response to the question you’ve posed. Of course Dave Winer doesn’t think that the iPad is a game changer, only a drooling fool would ever expect that. Also, side note to Dave: “is the iPad a game changer?” Fuck man, articles aren’t just the things that you pretend to read Playboy for! Second, who gives a monkey’s fuck if the iPad is a “game-changer”? What the fuck is a “game-changer” anyway. Try evaluating the iPad based on something other than straw-man arguments for a change you hoary old prick.
Moving on to the good stuff, Dave subjects us to six paragraphs of reminiscing about the 1988 U.S. Presidential election, a failed IBM computer launch and the film The Prestige before finally getting to the point. Dave begins by critiquing the iPad as a writing tool:
Like everyone else who got one, I am trying to figure out how to make it my own. I keep hitting frustrating limits. I want to use it to write. Impossible, I’ve discovered. None of my writing tools are there. Not just the ones I use to enter keystrokes into the computer, and edit and revise them, but also the tools I use for finding information I want to reference in my stories. For example, when I wrote this piece, I paraphrased the quote from Bowie, expecting that later, when I’m revising it, I’ll be able to get the exact words either by looking it up on the web, or by playing the movie on my computer and transcribing the words. Both are of course possible on the iPad, assuming the movie is already on board, but the looking-things-up part can be really awkward, at least for me, now. Maybe I’ll learn the elegant way to do it.
You heard it from Dave Winer first folks. The iPad is impossible to use to write. If only, IF ONLY I had purchased a WiFi only model so I could be writing this on an iPad. Let’s dissect Dave’s points though. “None of my writing tools are there.” Now, I am fully willing to accept the fact that whatever workflow that Dave uses to vomit his asinine commentary onto the web is not replicated on the iPad. I’d be fucking surprised if it was. But let’s dig deeper still. “Not just the ones I use to enter keystrokes into the computer…” says Dave. What in the ever-christing-fuck does Dave Winer use to write with, fucking clay tablets and a stylus. I know what I use—a fucking keyboard—and the iPad has keyboards in spades. If the on-screen keyboard doesn’t tickle your nuts, pair it with a Bluetooth keyboard.
Moving on, Dave bemoans the fact that he can’t use the iPad to locate information for use in his textual feces tossing; such as an exact quote from the movie that he was nattering on about before. Again I have to ask: how in the Nine Circles of Hell does Dave Winer function in the 21st Century? Here’s how you do research on the iPad you gormless twat, you use the fucking internet! It took me typing exactly five words and pressing enter to locate the quote that Dave was looking for. What the fuck is Dave expecting an iGenie to pop out of the damned screen and deliver information from on-high?
I was going to keep demolishing Dave’s points, but I can’t. I’ve shot my load on this one. One fucking paragraph contains more stupid than I can deal with in one day. It continually astounds me that anyone is willing to listen to a single opinion of Dave Winer’s that doesn’t involve what flavor of oatmeal to eat or the relative merits of various brands of adult diapers. Seriously, for the love of all that’s unholy, someone put this decrepit old bastard in a home before he hurts himself, or worse yet gives me an aneurysm.