Mac users are often accused of being rabid about everything to do with their favorite fruity company. We sit up all night to listen to SteveNotes, we follow the rumor boards like our lives depend on knowing exactly when revamped iPod Nanos will hit store shelves, we know when new versions of the OS are seeded to developers for testing, we fret about Jonathan Ive jumping ship to another company (he designed the iPod, the iMac, the Mac Mini, and the G5), we endlessly debate the move to Intel chips, and we ‘evangelize’ non-stop. Mostly, we are fanatical supporters of a company that consistently hits the high notes of innovation, mouth-watering industrial design, and unparalleled user experience.

However, we are also Apple’s harshest critics, contrary to popular belief. The subject of my gripe today are the so-called Geniuses at Apple’s Retail Stores across the US, Europe, and Japan. I haven’t encountered too many as I am a power user and the only reason I’d go anywhere near a Genius would be for hardware support. The very concept of a Genius is disgusting. These are just folks who know more about Apple hardware and software than the average user. So? Big bloody deal. They’re paid to know more. Macs have always been touted as “computers for the rest of us”. They’re good to go out of the box, the user manuals are written in English not geekspeak, the OS and most applications conform to Apple’s Human Interface Guidelines so everything is consistent and easy to use, and really, Macs just work. Nevertheless, scores of people feel insecure around technology and genuinely believe that they aren’t good with computers. Why underscore this anxiety by branding glorified tech support staff as Geniuses, furthering the divide between an average user and the “super powers”?

Yesterday, at the Apple Store in London, I was sitting around checking mail and generally feeling happy being amidst “family”. I was discussing the new iPods with a couple of folk and this harried girl came up to me, practically in tears, and asked if I knew a lot about Macs. I said I did and, most apologetically, she asked if I could help her out with a couple of things. A Genius at the Genius Bar told her that her iBook was displaying a flashing question mark at startup because she needed a new hard drive, and her computer couldn’t connect to the Internet because the Store was offline. Bullshit on both counts. The flashing question mark issue was solved in 4 seconds, simply by selecting her hard drive as the Startup Disk, as opposed to a Network Disk. The Internet at the Store had possibly not been working for a few moments but when I launched Safari, her start page loaded instantly and she was up and running. In her traumatized state, she thought that her computer had huge problems that were preventing her from going online. The Genius had not even bothered to check and had dismissed her contemptuously, probably thinking she wasn’t worthy of his time.

Absolutely appalling.

After a while, I had a question about a DVI to Video connector and approached the Genius Bar with trepidation. I asked if there was a queue and this bastard Genius said, “Well, if it’s a quick and silly question, I can answer it now”. Why didn’t I didn’t blast him out of the universe?

A Genius is one who has exceptional intellectual or creative power. The only thing these guys have is exceptional bad ass attitude, and Apple would do well to re-think their approach to technical support. In an attempt to make a Help Desk sexy, Apple is alienating customers with this idiotic, decidedly unGenius concept and I wish they’d train their people to be less heavy-handed and condescending.

A few months ago, I learnt that I’d be coming to Oslo in September to participate in a forum organized by Fredskorpset. FK originally used to be the Norwegian Peace Corps and is now a development organization that focuses on “bringing people together”. FK’s focus is conflict resolution, peace building, sustainable development and human resource capacity building.

With only two days in Oslo, I realized there wouldn’t be much I could do on my own, especially since the FK program was packed with a zillion activities. However, I was curious to know what sort of art, music, and theatre fare the city of Edvard Munch and Henrik Ibsen had to offer. A Google search revealed plenty of activity. However, a single word, amidst scores of events, blew me away.

My eyes popped out of their sockets. Hair? The American Tribal Love/Rock Musical? In Oslo? During my trip? I proceeded to fall off the couch I was sprawled on. It was indeed, THAT Hair! I’d never seen a stage performance of the 60s cult classic and decided I was going to go, even though the musical was in Norwegian. Having watched the movie 69 billion times, and being in sync with every nuance of the soundtrack, I figured that language was hardly an issue.

A bit of background on Hair …

Hair is synonymous with the peace, drugs, anti-draft, free love, and music culture of the 1960s. The show tells the stories of a “tribe” of young, larger than life, politically conscious hippies who take on the establishment, fight being drafted into the Vietnam War, and know how to have a rocking good time. Hair premiered off-Broadway in the late 60s and features a Grammy award winning score. In 1979, the movie version of Hair was released and was directed by Miloš Forman. The soundtrack defies description. Songs like Aquarius, Flesh Failures/Let the Sunshine In, Easy To Be Hard, Good Morning Starshine, Hair, Ain’t Got No, I Got Life, Manchester England, Colored Spade, and Where Do I Go, actually all the songs, are musically superb and lyrically profound and challenging.

After arriving in Oslo, with a very special envelope containing 50 dollars for the Hair ticket, I called the Det Norske Teatret. To my total horror, I was informed that the show was all sold out and there were zero chances of getting a ticket. I cried a little. Anyway, after listening to three Nobel Peace Laureates at Oslo City Hall, I felt somewhat inspired (more on them later) and decided to take a chance. I ran out of City Hall at 4:00 pm in search of the theatre. That day’s show was scheduled to start at 5:00 pm. Inside the theatre, the box office folks said, “We’re terribly sorry, but the show has been booked by a company and it’s a closed performance, and you cannot get a ticket”.

Slightly shattered, but undeterred, I went in search of the Posten (the Norwegian Postal Service) reception desk. They were celebrating 50 years, or maybe 100, and had organized a grand event, with flowing wine, dinner, and of course, Hair. With knots in my stomach, I approached a Posten representative who looked like she was in charge. The words stuck in my throat – she reminded me of a school headmistress – and for what seemed like an eternity, I froze. Anyway, I explained that I was visiting from Pakistan, that Hair was not merely a musical with mind-blowing song and dance sequences, but was an ideology/philosophy/the real meaning of life type thing for me, that I didn’t understand a word of Norwegian but was still desperate to see the show, that I’d stand in the back inconspicuously, pay any amount of money, etc. Basically, I begged, pleaded, and groveled for 30 seconds. She looked at me as if I was nuts. Well, I am nuts but that’s a post for another day. She then went off to speak to a higher authority, and time stood still. She came back and said, “OK, we shall let you in.” I hugged her and went to the bathroom to cry my eyes out.

Britt, the wonderful lady, actually not even remotely like a school headmistress, was the bee’s knees. She handed me a real ticket at around 5:00 pm, so I finally had proof that it wasn’t a dream. Every now and then, she’d walk over to where I was anxiously sitting to say that I’d have to wait a little longer and to assure me that she’d come get me.

At 6:00 pm, Britt came round and said, “Come with me”. I followed her into the theatre like a kid who has just been handed a 6 scoop ice-cream cone. I couldn’t quite believe what was happening because she led me to the middle of the first row and said, “Please be seated,” – like, 2 feet away from the stage. Wooooot!!!!!!

Oh, I wasn’t charged any money for the ticket.

The show began with a hair-raising(ly) rousing rendition of Aquarius. I was so close to the stage that I could have touched the performers. Immediately and dramatically striking was the contemporary design of sets and costumes and the ultra modern interpretation. There was a lot of technology and animation and it didn’t feel at all like a 60s show. Claude Bukowski, dressed like an H&M model even had a video camera. The modern-ness didn’t detract at all and in fact, it’s wonderful that a new generation of artistes are still inspired enough by Hair to re-invent it and weave the original story into new settings and circumstances. It was powerful, intense, brilliantly performed, and the music … Ohhhhhh – to die for. All the singers had stunning voices but particularly impressive was the rendition of Easy To Be Hard. I happily sang along in English throughout, laughed, cried, and generally had the time of my life. After the show, I went backstage and met Hudd (stage name), the hot African American, and he told me that the directors, choreographers, actors and dancers decided they wanted to re-interpret Hair and did not want, in any way, to be influenced by the original versions. They came up with something totally unique in 8 weeks. Unbelievable. Kudos!

Britt, you rock. Thank you ever so much for making the impossible, possible. I have been walking on sunshine since the 7th of September.

I was standing in line at the departure gate at Karachi’s Jinnah Terminal, waiting to board a flight to London on Qatar Airways. Suddenly, I heard my name on the public announcement system, asking me to report to the boarding desk. I nearly died. I was only thinking blasphemous thoughts.

With trepidation, I approached the Qatar Airways desk and let them know I was Ms. Sabeen Mahmud. One of the chaps took my boarding card, handed me another, and dismissed me. I was like, huh? I asked what was up and he said, “Oh, we’ve upgraded you to Business Class.” I was flummoxed and weakly asked, “Why?” He said, “Dil chah raha tha!!” Rather perturbed, I again asked why. So he said, “Well if you don’t want it, give it back.” and swapped the cards. I snatched the Business Class boarding pass right back and said, “Of course I want it.” No reasons were forthcoming so I said Thank You (I hope), and got back in line.

I have no idea what this upgrade was about but it was a treat and a half. The seats were to die for, the espresso was bitter and strong, and the cheese omelette, while not exactly fluffy, was pretty darn decent for an airline egg. Tragically, the upgrade was only for the Karachi-Doha sector which is merely a two hour flight. I am now sitting amongst the teeming masses, back where I belong, in Economy Class, on my 7 hour flight to London. I almost wish I hadn’t had a whiff of Business Class. BTW, the 15 inch PowerBook/MacBook Pro is a horrifically tight squeeze in Economy, so anyone who travels a lot and is planning to buy a Mac and doesn’t need the speed of a Pro machine, get a 13 inch MacBook. At least you won’t die of shoulder cramps, while computing.

More from Oslo …

Update: The gentleman I was sitting next to on the flight from Doha to London informed me that they upgraded some people because they were overbooked in Economy. So it wasn’t my charisma after all

In entirely unrelated news, the above-mentioned gentleman supplies Electro-Magnetic Interference prevention/reduction technology to Apple Computer Inc. for the Airport cards in the Mac Minis. Wonder if that “Interface Robustness” option in the Airport menu is a dud as interference issues are handled by rubber tube type thinggies not software. Whatever …

There are movies, and then, there are life-altering experiences.

“Judgement at Nuremberg” placed 4 Nazi judges on trial before a panel of 3 American judges, for war crimes, and made me question seemingly simple notions of right and wrong till I felt sick to the bone. “Quo Vadis” brought to life the time of Nero in the most spectacular fashion. “Luther” coldly illustrated the unbelievable selling and branding machine that is religion. “12 Angry Men” tore the infallible American judicial process to shreds. “Cinema Paradiso” – at the risk of being labeled an inarticulate Gen X idiot – was simply awesome.

I was a trifle apprehensive before watching Cinema Paradiso. I was exhausted after weeks of all-nighters at work, the film was in Italian with English sub-titles, and I’d heard so much about it being such a wonderful film, that I feared I might end up hating it.

However …

For over 2 hours, I sat mesmerized by one of the finest films ever made. Told mostly through flashbacks, Cinema Paradiso is about one man’s love affair with films, and his special friendship with a projectionist. That may not sound particularly exciting but I don’t want to give away the story. It was all about the small touches and details – the stunning direction, the gorgeous cinematography, adorable little Toto, Alfredo – the real hero, the priest whom you can’t help but like, the lilt of Italian dialogue (am so glad it wasn’t in English), the smoothness with which numerous other stories were told alongside the main plot without hype and confusion, the evolution of a little village, and of course, the myriad glimpses into the golden age of movies.

This is not a movie that you like or don’t like. It’s just too special to be conveniently boxed into a category or superficially commented on. Cinema Paradiso is a multi-sensory feast, and a movie made with heart, mind, and soul.

In awe!

P.S. Zak, thank you for waiting patiently. One has to experience a little bit of what life has to offer (and take away) before watching Cinema Paradiso to truly appreciate it. And I do intend to watch it again, and again, so that I can focus on different aspects each time.