August 14, 2018
How smart do you have to be to operate a smartphone? If there was a Smart Test I would fail; but I do understand enough about the little monster to not take it into the morning dip with me, even at the risk of missing a call. I actually receive an average of 1½ calls a day (three on special days).
My first smartphone was an iPhoneG3 (or is it 3G or just 3?), and I took perverse pleasure in not getting a newer model, because that beautifully created, sensuously-curved work of art nestled neatly in my hand. (I think a guy named Art Takashima designed it.)
I had some Apps that were kindly downloaded into my phone by my granddaughter, and was using at least three of them quite regularly—text, phone and WX (that’s us pilots’ code for ‘weather’). There were also a couple of games—Solitaire, which I had mastered; and another dumb game that I couldn’t.
I knew how to text and phone people (using one thumb or two). I could even take photos, but never did figure out what to do with them, so they just sat there—miles and miles of beautiful snapshots. My kids and my grandchildren all used to shudder and blush when I pulled out that beloved phone; they all considered it so obsolete, so passé, so prehistoric—in other words like so totally antediluvian (look that one up in your Funk & Wagnalls). Evidently, my iPhone3 was an embarrassment to my family. But I treasured it.
Then I spoiled things by having a birthday. Lo and behold, upon awaking on that happy morning, a friend gave me a brand new iPhone4. Oh joy! I didn’t know whether to cry, or to cry loudly; should I cry from appreciation of the gift, and sadness at losing my baby; or cry loudly when I was told that my brand new 4 was already obsolete! And I’d only just opened the box!
These days, it seems as though I take one technological step forward, only to discover that I actually took three steps back. That’s not progress. By now I have grown attached to my 4 (even though I’m told it’s actually a 5E). Maybe that’s progress.
Actually, progress would be if I could count a year backward on my birthday.
See you next time,
P. Michael Jordan