Or the Mac?
Recently I’ve been trading geekery with a gent in Pennsylvania who is in the process of moving a personal website from remote hosting to self-hosting. He’s a Mac guy and he bought a copy of OS X Server to run on his Mac Mini.
I was curious about this server software, so I looked into it. Seems like a nicely packaged product, typical Mac ease of use and polished user interface. The web server part of it runs on a modified version of Apache. List price is $499 and the best street price I could find after a brief search was $349.99.
Three hundred fifty bucks. Three. Hundred. Fifty. Dollars.
And that’s the discount price. I’m sure there are lots of people paying five benjamins to buy it directly from Apple.
My reaction to this reminds me of when Windows Vista was first released, and to buy the full (i.e. non-upgrade) system at retail cost up to $400 – and the way Microsoft controls their prices, discounters were practically nonexistent. I’d walk into, say, Office Depot, and they’d have retail boxed versions of Vista Ultimate on display, and I’d just gape at the $400 price tag. Four hundred bucks, for software, and not even very good software. Eventually they dropped that by 20%, and the Windows 7 pricing is the same, but still. That’s just for the OS. If you want to run a Microsoft office suite, you’d shell out another $400 to $680. And don’t get me started on what server software costs from them.
I have been a Linux user for years now, and mostly I don’t think about the cost of software anymore. Just about everything I want to do has a free software app that does it. I only run one piece of paid proprietary software: TwonkyMedia UPNP server, which cost me $29 about four years ago. Considering how much I do with computers all day long, that is a trivial amount of paid software. Contrast that with a Windows box, where you can wind up paying over $1000 just to have an operating system and an office suite.
After all this time with Linux, I find I’ve stopped thinking of software as something you pay for. Increasingly software is something you just download and use, part of the virtual environment like air and water in the real world. It actually gives me a shock to see someone paying significant money for OS X Server, which while slick and attractive is really just Apache and Unix with a pretty interface. I don’t mean to say that they’re being foolish; I imagine the support and the slick interface are worthwhile for users with different priorities. It’s an individual choice. The shock comes from the idea of paying for software, and it brings along an aftershock of, “Wow, have I changed! When did that happen?” But it has. Paying for software feels wrong.
Back before I started using Linux, I bought into the Microsoft ecosystem, literally. I have three or four (can’t remember anymore) legitimate paid licenses for retail Windows XP, not counting the ones that came with computers I acquired used. At that time, I had no problem paying for software. I used to shop the aisles of shiny boxes with pretty pictures, looking for cool things, and it didn’t faze me that I was buying mostly an empty box; one CD and a lot of air. Now I go to Fry’s, for instance, and I barely even glance at them; or else I wander the software aisles for a few minutes and look at price tags. Here’s the PowerDVD player app for $50, there’s Nero to burn CDs with for $70, here’s a virus scanner and firewall for $50, and so on, and I look at them and think what I paid for the equivalent apps – free, free, and free. It’s a source of strange amusement, but it doesn’t really hit with the same impact as seeing an operating system or an office suite that costs more than most people’s car payments.
Most expert Windows users are irritated by the condescending attitude Linux users have toward them, but this is one of the big reasons why that attitude exists. The majority of web and mail servers use free software. I don’t see a compelling reason to buy software for these uses when I can do everything for free. Ditto with my desktop machines; all the things I need to do, I can do with free software. So I probably do come across a little condescending to people who are still in the paid-software paradigm. They’re not used to having people regard them the same way they regard AOL users: people who are paying to have someone bring them something they could get for free.
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Clarification: A friend of mine commented to me privately that he thought this article could be construed as advocating piracy. That’s not the intent. When I say “Paying for software feels wrong,” that’s not in the moral sense as in “Adultery feels wrong,” but in the much milder sense of “Wearing your shorts backward feels wrong.” So, not wrong in the sense of immoral, just wrong in the sense of funny and strange.
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Update: Comments are now closed on this post and the one that follows it. This is to prevent myself from continuing to argue to no further effect. I regret that I allowed myself to be drawn into the argument in the first place. You may interpret this lack of self-control as a character flaw if you choose; draw whatever conclusions you like.
Update 02/01/2010: Now that things have cooled down, I’m reopening the comments.
Pop psych and the trivialization of grief
People cry at funerals.
This is so obvious that it really doesn’t need any pointing out. But I’ve been having conversations with people about why we do that, and the more I hear about the current way of explaining it, the more offended I get at what I see as trivializing of grief.
The modern theory, with us in the popular understanding since about the 1970s, goes like this: You’re sad when someone dies because you’re feeling sorry for yourself – sorry that they won’t be in your life any more, sorry because you’ll miss them. You can’t logically be sorry for the dead person, because that person is gone and there’s no one to be sorry for (or they’re in the afterlife and not gone, so there’s no reason to be sorry, if that’s your belief). So you must actually be sorry for you.
I think that is a huge load of self-centered self-help-book crap.
When I have dealt with the death of someone I knew, I felt sad and sorry for the person who died. It never had anything to do with my own loss; I can get along on my own, that’s just how things are. I was sad that that person didn’t get the chance to live out his or her life, missed out on things, got cut short. Sad for the person, not for myself. And yes, I know that the person is gone and there’s no one there to feel sorry for. I know that consciously, anyway. But for a while, when someone dies, you feel different about it. It takes a while to adjust to the person not being there any more, and during that time you’re going to emotionally react as if they were not gone, because your emotional state hasn’t adjusted yet. How long is it before you stop unconsciously expecting the dead person to walk in the door? Certainly that lasts a lot longer than it takes to have a funeral. So even though you know consciously that the person is gone, your emotional sadness and sympathy for that person still seem to have an object.
The idea that sadness over a dead person is all based in selfishness, that we are only sad because of how that person’s death negatively affects us, takes one of the more noble and powerful human traits – empathy – and just wipes it out of consideration like a dry eraser on a whiteboard. It reduces empathy and genuine compassion for others to the self-centered whining of a child who has dropped her ice cream cone on the sidewalk. It cheapens us, paints us as small and mean and petty to the core. I think we’re better than that; not all the time, but sometimes, and more often at those times.
You might think this is all just conjecture, but I have two pieces of evidence in favor of my position: tearjerker movies and media tragedies, especially those involving children. People watch a tearjerker and cry when someone dies. Even grown men can be brought to tears if the movie is skillfully done. So where do these tears come from? The popular explanation that we cry for our own loss has no answer for the tearjerker movie. Not only is the dead movie character someone you’re not going to miss in your real life, it’s not even a real person at all. Similarly, when the news reports some child dead or missing, people are moved to sympathetic reactions in droves. For what? If grief were purely selfish, why would thousands of people care about a dead child whom they had never met and will never miss?
This has bothered me for a long time, ever since someone tried to explain away my grief over a dead friend this way in 1982. It offended me then and it offends me now, and I’ve had a long time to think about it in the intervening years. Every time I hear it, I want to retort: How dare you trivialize my sadness that way? How dare you try to take away one of the bonds that make us human, and replace it with glib Oprah self-esteem nonsense? Maybe you’re self-absorbed enough to make someone else’s death all about you, but not everyone can be so shallow. So speak for yourself and leave me out of it.
In case you’re wondering after reading this, no one close to me has recently died. But some people are getting close to it, so it’s been on my mind.