Pandora's Pocket
Now these things are called “smartphones” because, for at least the first several days of ownership, they make a person feel irretrievably dumb. There are more bells and whistles compressed into less space than a kindergarten talent show, and I’m pretty sure that every time I access one of those applications I’m being charged harder than a Pamplona tourist in July.
But it’s sick.
Now I don’t have to sit at the computer to discover that I have no email. Friends and associates can ignore me wherever I am, at any time of the day or night. I’m informed of every absent email on four different accounts, every text you don’t send me, every tweet I don’t care about and every piece of reliable spam that comes my way. Each identified by it’s own unique alert tone that I almost never get to hear. I can surf the dubya-dubya-dubya from the porch, the bed, the toilet. I can download and listen to sucky music (although for that specific task I am and will remain loyal to Mac), watch videos I don’t want to see, take crisp 3.2 megapixel stills of meaningless objects and even shoot long-form videos of events I’d just as soon forget.
And of course, more. Maps I won’t need until I host a cable survival show, GPS directions that snidely imply I should be going somewhere, MS Word and Excel to prep for the client meeting I don’t have scheduled and scheduling software with which to keep track of my unoccupied time. How could I have put this off for so long?
Thinking back to those halcyon days of the mid 80’s-when only show-offy assholes had mobile phones and those phones were the size of pro-grade power drills-I clearly recall thinking “Who would want a phone tied to their ankle all day?” After my inevitable seduction, I likewise remember thinking, “What’s all this other crap? I just want a phone.” Now I’m thinking…
anybody wanna’ buy a gently used desktop computer?
Now granted, even with a “full function QWERTY keyboard” typing remains a challenge on the 3G, and it will be a long time if not forever before I write something approaching this character count on a keyboard the size of an open matchbook. But hell kids, they do sell outboard, larger keyboards that one can plug right in to a handheld device. And inelegant as it may be, that's almost a solution.
It’s here. The Convergence. The orchestrated collapse of all our personal technology-from stereos to telephones, from computers to cameras to televisions to credit cards to even tape measures and books-into a single device that puts more sophisticated computational power into your pocket than was installed on the first few space shuttles.
Now you just have to decide whether to sell your ass to Comcast, or Verizon.
And hey, The Convergence? I’m not making that up. I’d post a link but screw it. Google it yourself.
From your smartphone.
It’s not like you’re calling, texting or emailing me, anyway.
OK shit, what’s that noise it’s making now…?...
But it’s sick.
Now I don’t have to sit at the computer to discover that I have no email. Friends and associates can ignore me wherever I am, at any time of the day or night. I’m informed of every absent email on four different accounts, every text you don’t send me, every tweet I don’t care about and every piece of reliable spam that comes my way. Each identified by it’s own unique alert tone that I almost never get to hear. I can surf the dubya-dubya-dubya from the porch, the bed, the toilet. I can download and listen to sucky music (although for that specific task I am and will remain loyal to Mac), watch videos I don’t want to see, take crisp 3.2 megapixel stills of meaningless objects and even shoot long-form videos of events I’d just as soon forget.
And of course, more. Maps I won’t need until I host a cable survival show, GPS directions that snidely imply I should be going somewhere, MS Word and Excel to prep for the client meeting I don’t have scheduled and scheduling software with which to keep track of my unoccupied time. How could I have put this off for so long?
Thinking back to those halcyon days of the mid 80’s-when only show-offy assholes had mobile phones and those phones were the size of pro-grade power drills-I clearly recall thinking “Who would want a phone tied to their ankle all day?” After my inevitable seduction, I likewise remember thinking, “What’s all this other crap? I just want a phone.” Now I’m thinking…
anybody wanna’ buy a gently used desktop computer?
Now granted, even with a “full function QWERTY keyboard” typing remains a challenge on the 3G, and it will be a long time if not forever before I write something approaching this character count on a keyboard the size of an open matchbook. But hell kids, they do sell outboard, larger keyboards that one can plug right in to a handheld device. And inelegant as it may be, that's almost a solution.
It’s here. The Convergence. The orchestrated collapse of all our personal technology-from stereos to telephones, from computers to cameras to televisions to credit cards to even tape measures and books-into a single device that puts more sophisticated computational power into your pocket than was installed on the first few space shuttles.
Now you just have to decide whether to sell your ass to Comcast, or Verizon.
And hey, The Convergence? I’m not making that up. I’d post a link but screw it. Google it yourself.
From your smartphone.
It’s not like you’re calling, texting or emailing me, anyway.
OK shit, what’s that noise it’s making now…?...