He stood up, because standing up was right.
Mr. Obama, a Medal of Freedom is in order. Like Martin, like Thurgood Marshall, posthumously, not alive and kicking like Tony Blair. Or Tenet and Bremer. Ask for theirs back, while you're at it, and rescind them with a signing statement or something if they refuse. You know, use that Alternate Presidential Reality Bush was so fucking fond of.
And Jobs. Not the Medal, I mean. Look, I'm a Woz man, myself, We've had a Mac on the desk here since 1988, and there's a small, unplanned museum in the basement. I wasn't a fanboy, or no more than could be excused by my justifiable hatred of DOS in those days, but I admired the fact that Apple tried to be smart. Even, grudgingly, when System X, sorry, OS TEN, belatedly consummated our long relationship without bothering with the lube.
And of course the iPodiPhone Apple that everyone is celebrating through Steven Jobs this morning is another matter ("take iTunes. Please."), a carnival that's come to town, set up a tent next door, and gives every indication of playing that fucking calliope every night until Doomsday. I'm not a religious man, so I can only hope that that'll be the end of it, that my eternity in Gehenna Fire will not involve an endless steam of people's cat pictures shoved at me on screens the size of plover's eggs. With date stamps.
I like technology, it's just not what I want in my pocket. Apple (and Jobs) are right, and I'm wrong, in the same way that the bloated raccoon on the side of the road, with all four legs pointing to the daytime sky he never cared for, was wrong, and the speeding car was right. Even if it carried White Slavers fleeing the wrath of Greg Zoeller.
But I can't look at those Press obsequies this morning without remembering just whose side those people were on in the 90s, when Apple was the patchouli-redolent hippie in the corporate elevator, and the great Tech Wizard Forward-Looking Genius Hero was Bill Gates, the Sam Walton of software.