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Living Writing

The Loop and the Pixel

There is a distinct muscle memory associated with the 1950s classroom. It smells of chalk dust and floor wax, but mostly, it feels like the cramping of a small hand wrapped around a pencil. We didn’t just learn to write; we were initiated into the discipline of the loop. The Palmer Method or Zaner-Bloser weren’t suggestions—they were rigorous architectures of communication. We made endless rows of O’s and l’s, tilting the paper just so, learning that language required flow, connectivity, and a certain deliberate grace.

Then, the world sped up.

By the 1990s, the loops began to unravel. As keyboards clattered their way into dominance, the efficiency of the printed letter—and eventually the typed pixel—took precedence over the artistry of the connected script. By 2010, the erasure was formalized; cursive was dropped from federal education standards (Common Core) to make room for “electronic literacy.” We traded the unique signature for the standardized font. We gained speed, certainly, but I often wonder what we lost in the translation.

“New Jersey this week joined a list of more than 20 states slanting in favor of bringing cursive instruction back to classrooms. Lessons on the looping letters were dropped from federal education standards in 2010, part of a shift toward focusing on electronic literacy.” — The New York Times

It seems the pendulum is swinging back. Proponents argue for its utility—the ability to read historical texts or a grandmother’s birthday card—but I believe the resurgence touches on something deeper.

In an increasingly digital world, cursive is an act of resistance. Typing is percussion; it is staccato and disconnected. Cursive is string; it is continuous and fluid. When we write in cursive, we are physically connecting thoughts, linking one letter to the next without lifting the pen. It forces the brain to slow down and the hand to dance.

As we stare into screens that demand our instant reaction, perhaps we are realizing that we crave the friction of pen on paper. We are bringing the loops back not because they are faster, but because they are human.

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Creativity Educated

Software for your brain…

Categories
Apple

When “Today at Apple” Lost Its Spark: A Fan’s Disappointment

Sketch Walk at an Apple Store

I used to be one of those people who’d eagerly check the “Today at Apple” schedule at my local Apple Store. There was something magical about walking into that sleek, glass-walled space and knowing I was about to learn something new—something creative. Whether it was a deep dive into photo editing on the iPad, a music production workshop with GarageBand, or even a coding session with Swift Playgrounds, these courses felt like a gateway to unlocking the full potential of Apple’s tools. They weren’t just tutorials; they were experiences that left you inspired, with skills you could actually use.

That was before Covid hit. Like so many things, “Today at Apple” had to adapt, and I get it—health and safety first. But what started as a necessary pivot to online sessions has, over time, turned into something else entirely. The program I once loved has been stripped down to the basics, and honestly, it’s disappointing.

The Golden Days of “Today at Apple”

Let me take you back. Picture this: It’s 2019, and I’m sitting in an Apple Store, surrounded by other curious minds, as an instructor walks us through advanced storytelling techniques using Final Cut Pro. We’re not just learning how to trim clips; we’re learning how to craft a narrative, how to use pacing and sound to evoke emotion. By the end of the session, I felt like I’d leveled up—not just in software proficiency, but in creativity. That was the beauty of “Today at Apple” back then. It wasn’t about teaching you the bare minimum; it was about pushing you to explore what was possible.

And it wasn’t just me. I’d see people of all ages—kids, professionals, retirees—engaging with these courses, each walking away with something valuable. The program had depth. It had variety. It had soul.

The Post-Covid Shift

Then came 2020. The world shut down, and so did the in-store “Today at Apple” program. When the program finally returned in person, it wasn’t the same. Gone were the advanced courses that challenged you to think differently. Instead, the curriculum now feels like a series of “Intro to [Insert Apple Product Here]” sessions.

Take the photography workshops, for example. Pre-Covid, you could attend a course on mastering manual camera settings or creating a photo essay. Now? It’s “How to Take a Great Photo with Your iPhone”—a session that, while useful for beginners, barely scratches the surface for anyone who’s spent more than five minutes with the Camera app. It’s like going from a masterclass to a quick-start guide.

Why This Matters

I know what you’re thinking: “It’s just a free course at an Apple Store. What did you expect?” Fair point. But here’s the thing—Apple has always positioned itself as a company that champions creativity. Their entire brand is built on the idea that their tools can help you “think different” and create something extraordinary. “Today at Apple” was a tangible extension of that ethos. It was a way for Apple to say, “Hey, we’re not just selling you a device; we’re giving you the skills to make something amazing with it.”

Now, it feels like they’re just checking a box. The courses are still there, but the heart is gone. It’s as if Apple has decided that most users only need the basics, and that’s a shame. Because the people who showed up to those advanced sessions? They were the ones pushing the boundaries, the ones who saw Apple’s tools as more than just gadgets—they saw them as instruments of creation.

A Plea to Apple

So, Apple, here’s my plea: Bring back the depth. Bring back the courses that challenge us, that inspire us to go beyond the basics. You’ve got the resources, the talent, and the audience. Don’t let “Today at Apple” remain a relic of what it once was.

In the meantime, I’ll keep my old course notes and screenshots from those pre-Covid sessions. They’re a reminder of a time when walking into an Apple Store meant more than just buying the latest iPhone—it meant learning how to make something beautiful with it at the intersection of technology and liberal arts.

Note: this post was crafted by me with writing help from Grok by xAI.