One good omen of the new year is that I fortuitously came into some “technology funding” I didn’t even know I was expecting, and a year early. A truly devoted member of the Cult of Mac, less than 24 hours later I had a new computer.
My writing-brain has thus been overshadowed by my playing-with-a-new-Mac-brain. Playing with a new Mac mainly consists of trying to figure out how to turn off all the automated functions that caused the last Mac’s hard drive to fill up with mysterious detritus to the point that it went on a general functionality strike. I plugged my iPhone into the new machine once and suddenly I have gigs (GIGS) of photo duplicates instantaneously generated and stashed in various corners of my pristine flash storage capacity. I do not need four copies of “face recognition” files for every photo of my baby I took six months ago and promptly forgot about. But now I have them.
This is why adult playing is so much less interesting than baby playing.
Today I tried to think about baby playing while editing this video of R from yesterday afternoon, but I ended up lost in iMovie, unable to figure out how to generate one good-quality little movie of my baby playing instead of several duplicated low-quality ones. I remember now: this is why, on the last Mac, I used iMovie once and never opened it again. There’s some kind of meta-poetic justice in how my (boring, joyless) playing with software manages to obscure the beauty of child’s (fascinating, contented) play. I suppose in the end, this video is about how adulthood mediates the pleasures of play in frustrating ways. Or about how you should watch it on a phone.