“Space: the final frontier” my Mac Classic would announce as it hummed into life. Its tiny black and white screen would light up and it would sit there panting with expectation, full of mischief. If waited too long flying toasters would start crisscrossing the screen. When I trashed a document Gilbert the Grouch would pop out and burp ” I love trash.” Fun days of computing, full of cleverness and insouciance. “This machine represents the ultimate achievement in computer technology!”
Steve Job dies. I switch on my Classic, which has worked perfectly for all these years, to pay tribute and the dreaded sick Mac symbol appears. The computer has died in sympathy with its creator.
“Stay hungry, stay foolish”