Day 4 was a pretty interesting day. For starters, I took this picture. This guy's name is Mike; he works for Apple's developer relations program. His job is akin to what I did for many years at Novell. Except, Mike is successful at his job, whereas I could never get Novell to do the things that would have made Novell successful. Or me. Now you know one of the reasons I am not at Novell anymore.
Anyway, I took this picture not for that reason, but for another reason. I can't tell you how many times people have e-mailed me asking, "Matt, what would your brother look like if he gained 40 pounds?" Well, stop asking and just take a look at this picture. Now you know.
Sort of. It is rather grainy, I admit.
Later that day I went by Dan's hotel to see what his room was like. Dan called the St. Regis Hotel and somehow managed to score a room rate of about 1/2 the normal $500-$600 per night rate. I called the same hotel within about 10-15 minutes and could not get the same rate - in fact I was told it was not possible.
Apparently they have a different understanding of "not possible" than what I have. Anyway, Dan had a corner room with an incredible view of downtown San Francisco:
The second picture is just to the left of the first, showing a great view of the Moscone Center and Yerba Buena Gardens. WWDC hosts a big bash in Yerba Buena Gardens on Thursday night, which was tonight, in the gardens. It was a great frolicking time. In fact, I was having such a great time that I lost track of where I was and forgot to take what you by now would assume would be my normal precautions. Instead, I suddenly found myself alone in a dark and remote corner of the gardens, surrounded by none other than the Black Ponytails.I once heard that the reason Metallica kicked Dave Mustaine out early in the band's history was because when the other guys would get drunk, they would just get really silly, but when Dave would get drunk, he would get angry. Well, suffice it to say that the Black Ponytails would also not get along with Metallica when they are drunk. When you combine free alcohol, the Black Ponytails, an Apple n00b like me, and the darkest, remotest corner of Yerba Buena, you end up with a dozen substantial embodiments combining to form about 3000 pounds of black Mac fury. Believe me, I was petrified.
"Well, if it isn't the Linux baby," one of them taunted as they surrounded me and backed me into the corner.
"Now, guys, I'm not meaning to cause any trouble here," I said, before I was blasted upside the head with a copy of Cocoa Programming for Mac OS X, 2nd Edition that had been hurled at me.
"Shut up, Linux baby. You don't get to talk," one of them hissed from the other side.
The leader continued. "Look, you freak. Nobody invited you here. Nobody wants you here. You think you can just show up here because you paid?!? You don't have true devotion! You don't truly love Apple! You aren't dedicated to making Steve Jobs ridiculously wealthy! We can see it in your eyes."
As he spoke, they all opened up their black backpacks and pulled out USB mice and stylish thin Mac keyboards. Those with the mice held onto the end of the cable while the mouse itself dropped down, dangling from their hands. Those with the keyboards grabbed one end with both hands and held it up in front of them, like a baseball bat. They were closing in, closer and closer. The air reeked of fear and 3000 pounds of body odor. I tried to remain calm, but panic started to set in. Didn't anybody see me? Didn't Zach and Dan know I was gone? Was there nobody to help me?
"You aren't one of us. You don't belong here. And now you are going to pay."
With that the blows started coming, harder, harder, and faster. Mouse and keyboard buttons were flying everywhere as the blows came in. I crumpled to the ground. My head was throbbing from the blows of the mice hitting my head, being used like medieval maces. I raised my hands to try to deflect the flailing mice, but then I felt the hard, crushing blows as the keyboards hit my ribs and back, held sideways so that I was being struck by the edges and corners, thus inflicting maximum damage. I felt bruises turn into welts, then blood blisters, and finally open, bleeding wounds. I could hear the occasional sickening crack of ribs when a particularly well-aimed keyboard struck exactly right. I curled up, drawing my legs up towards me, which elicited numerous jeering cries of "Linux baby! Linux baby!" Still, the hurling mice seemed to find their way inside my defenses. Now partially broken apart, the remaining plastic fragments on the mouse bodies would cut, grab, and tear at my flesh, leaving small stabbing and cutting wounds all over my face, head, hands, and back.
After what seemed an eternity but was probably only five to ten minutes, they finally stopped and stood back a pace. I lay immobile for some seconds, trying to determine if it was finally over. But just as I'd determined they were done, just as I moved to start to get up, the leader snapped his fingers loudly, and on that signal two of them stepped in, pinned me down and forced my hands behind my back, tying them tightly together with mouse cables. They stood me up and held me between them.
The leader bent down and pulled my laptop out of my case. He looked it over with an air of superiority and disdain. Then he finally looked at me. "You see this laptop?"
"Yes," I panted. "Please. Come on, just leave me alone. I'll leave."
He laughed a short, scoffing laugh, and took a step toward me. "This laptop is a..." - he cocked his arms back, ready to swing - "PIECE" - he struck me forcefully with the laptop across my head where I immediately felt warm blood gushing from the newly opened wound - "OF" - the backswing caught me full in the face as the taste of blood flooded my mouth - "CRAP!" - he brought the laptop up and shattered it over the top of my head.
My head was throbbing like nothing I had ever felt before. I was so dizzy I could hardly stand or even retain consciousness. I spat blood from my mouth just for it to fill up again. It hurt to breathe against the wounds in my back and sides. I could barely see past swollen eyes and cheekbones. My hands ached where I knew bones were broken. Blood ran freely down my face and pooled on the ground below.
The two Black Ponytails continued to hold me upright while the leader turned and went back to his backpack. He pulled out what appeared to be a piece of parchment paper. Between the throbbing in my head, the intense blackness of the darkest regions of Yerba Buena, and the lights flashing in my eyes from the blows to my head, I really could not tell what it was.
The leader came back. With a smug grin on his face he strutted up to me. He grabbed my hair and lifted my head up, shoving the paper in front of my face. "You see this paper?" he said. "You wanna read this paper. You wanna do what it says, and sign it. And you wanna find me tomorrow and bring it to me. You wanna do it, Linux baby. Or we're gonna finish what we started here tonight."
Keeping hold of my hair with his left hand, he dropped the paper on the ground in front of me. Then, suddenly, he pulled back and punched me with the full force of his fist right in the nose. I felt the bones break as I struggled to breathe, my nasal cavity filling up with blood.
The two that were holding me up finally let me go. I collapsed to the ground as the Black Ponytails dispersed into the night. Just before I lost consciousness, I was barely able to make out the words atop the paper on the ground in front of me. They read:
THE CULT OF THE MAC
To Be Signed In Blood
To Be Signed In Blood
