As I sit here on a Thursday evening at yet another quirky little SF cafe, I suddenly look around and notice a bunch of little glowing apples looking at me. Yes . . . out of seven laptops being used at the cafe, six of them are Macs. We are all sitting there with smug, “I am so cool hanging out at a urine-smelling bohemian cafe in the mission typing on my mac” kind of look. Scaaaaaaary . . . and while I do love my Mac, if one of them offers me kool-aid, I am out of there.