Xojo is a Trip
Weird Adventures Using Xojo for the First Time
Issue: 11.5 (September/October 2013)
Author: Keith Colbaugh
Author Bio: Keith is a dabbler, a graduate of Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, who lives on the Oregon coast and thinks about strange things, including Xojo.
Article Description: No description available.
Article Length (in bytes): 7,819
Starting Page Number: 29
Article Number: 11505
Related Link(s): None
Excerpt of article text...
Warning! Do not read this article if you can't afford to lose ten points from your IQ! IBM taught people to
think. Apple taught us to think differently. Being born in North Carolina, my teachers taught us to speak like Northerners and promised us it would add 20 points to our IQs. It must have worked or I wouldn't be able spare the effort writing about my first submersion in Xojo.
It all started one day as a broadcast of
The Three Stooges, with a piano-ripping adagio, spilled onto the cat-worn carpet in front of my black and white TV in my slept-in living room. Slimey sleep dribbled from my eyes as a puddle of REM waves foamed at my feet. Fearing the loss of what was left upstairs, my mind congealed on a plan to improve my intellect. Turning off Moe and his stooge friends, it occurred to me that Sudoku or crossword puzzles could possibly educate me. Typing Mo in Wickedpedia brought me by pure chance to something called Xojo. Why not trade a few brain waves on something that rhymes with Moe?
Why not start with a tutorial? It was easy as watching a movie. My synapse started to snap. Typing faster than a bionic robot, my decimals nearly shattered my coffee protected keyboard. Before you could say "The hare and the tortoise" there appeared before my startled eyes a window declaring "Hello World" with a Limey accent.
Before long my cleaning lady showed up. Putting on surgical gloves and shifting a few molecules from one end of the room to the other, she asked in a bored, skeptical voice, "Watchya doin'?"
"Just creating new worlds," I responded, trying to awe a seventy-something old lady. Strange sparks started coming from her eyes. Her fingers twitched with joy as she slid across my carpet plunking herself at the keyboard. She said something about swallowing tablets of magnesium threonate... how it would recreate my brain synapses better than all the gingko in the world. (That's a free ad for those who need to stimulate those synapses.)
Showing a deep-seated technolust, she declared, "Gimme that laptop. I'll showya how it works." Like a child licking its lips over a bowl of Häagen-Dazs, she nearly devoured the decrepit hunk of plastic and metal. Now I'm looking for a new cleaning lady and a new computer. Watch out for an app called "Help the Hiersuited Hippy Woman Escape Her Hellish Insane Asylum of Paranoia."
...End of Excerpt. Please purchase the magazine to read the full article.