iPhoria: noun—a feeling of happiness, confidence, or well-being sometimes exaggerated in pathological states of mania, typically experienced upon acquiring a new Apple store product. This condition is typically followed by a crash when the new product is rendered obsolete before the credit card statement arrives.
This blog post has been composed on my new MacBook Air. Whether I really needed a MacBook Air is debatable, although not really that debatable, because the definition of need would have to be pretty elastic to justify this acquisition. It was a gift, however, and as everyone knows, one does not question the need for either diamonds or for anything that comes in the minimalist packaging from the Apple Store.
Besides, at 2.3 pounds, it is very light, and I’m on a campaign, as of late, to shed some load, if not from around my waistline, then at least from the bottomless pit of detritus that typically hangs from my shoulder. Also, I confess, new Apple products make me irrationally happy. iPhoria a friend quipped, observing my giddy tech exuberance. It lasted for a couple of months, and then that longing feeling returned.
I had already lightened my load by acquiring, in December, an iPad, so that I could retire from my heavy bag the calendar as well as the various books and magazines, notepads, crosswords, etc., that I typically lug around. Now I’d have it all in one sleek unit, at only 1.5 pounds. Also, it fit perfectly into an otherwise unused slot in the aforementioned bag, so I could always have it at hand, enabling me to read at every opportunity—on the Metro, in waiting rooms, at theaters before the movie began. One unforeseen problem, however, was that people were constantly tapping me on the shoulder asking to see my iPad, and asking a lot of questions. “Is that a Kindle?” would rank at the top of the FAQs. And when I’d say no, I’d occasionally get some wiseguy who would point out that, of course not, the Kindle is much smaller and weighs only 8.5 ounces.
Last night, when my e-book reading was interrupted by a stranger in a restaurant, the question was completely different. “Hey, is that the new iPad?” she asked, excitedly.
Say what? “There’s a new iPad?”
“Yes,” she said, “and I hear it’s really sleek.”
I went home and looked it up. At 1.35 pounds, it’s 15 percent lighter than my own behemoth device. My son says I’m Apple’s best customer, but I’m beginning to feel like its best dupe.