iphone

Every year, the weekend before the Superbowl, which is technically “Pro-Bowl Weekend” but who cares, three of my friends and I head to Atlantic City, a midway point between our respective places of businesses, to gamble, drink, eat, and generally forget we have jobs and responsibilities for three days. Invariably, this is a fantastic time — and from unloading the megabar when we arrive to picking up the check for the ridiculous beverage-fueled meals to rooting for unexpected wins and commiserating over mutual losses, there is rarely a moment of discourse. Except one. Without fail. When the Apple guy...