If an alien landed on earth this morning, he'd be forgiven if he thought Steve Jobs was Prometheus, Jesus and Henry Ford all rolled up into one, that all the wails and lamentations, the celebrations and tributes, marked the passing of the world's greatest mind.
Usually, this sort of hagiography is reserved for the dead -- or for the presidential candidate who shares our party affiliation -- during mourning periods in which churlish people like myself usually have to shut up and not say, "Yes, but ..." (with the exception of Christopher Hitchens). But Jobs isn't dead; he's simply resigned as CEO of Apple. So allow me to point out that the man is no fallen angel -- hell, when it comes to charitable use of his amassed wealth, he's not even a fallen Bill Gates -- and he isn't a perfect businessman.
Usually, this sort of hagiography is reserved for the dead -- or for the presidential candidate who shares our party affiliation -- during mourning periods in which churlish people like myself usually have to shut up and not say, "Yes, but ..." (with the exception of Christopher Hitchens). But Jobs isn't dead; he's simply resigned as CEO of Apple. So allow me to point out that the man is no fallen angel -- hell, when it comes to charitable use of his amassed wealth, he's not even a fallen Bill Gates -- and he isn't a perfect businessman.
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