NEAR AN ART GALLERY IN CHELSEA - It was an unseasonably warm October afternoon, and Jony Ive was about to go on stage with The New Yorker's David Remnick to talk about who knows what. I got there early, chugged a ginger ale, and hustled past a buffet of expensive-looking sushi to get a seat in the front row of the garage-like event space. My stomach felt queasy but not because of the ginger ale. I was a little bit nervous.