Tuesday, July 3, 2007

I Don't Want an iPhone

Yeah, it's rant time. This is, of course, coming from someone still on the early side of forty but who nonetheless feels that technology is moving beyond him.

That said (yes, there's that expression again), I don't need a phone to do everything in the world for me. I don't need a phone that keeps me in constant contact with the universe whether I want it or not. I'm lucky right now to not have a job that requires being on a leash. I had a job like that once and I wouldn't get a blackberry for that very reason. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some technophobe heading to a ranch in the woods of Montana. I have a cellphone. I get the value of it (even if I think schools are right to ban them). I love texting as much as the next person although I'm doing a lot less of it right now.

But I do fear that all these devices are part of an overall trend in our society that focuses on the individual rather than the group. No, I'm not a socialist. I just used to like the daily interactions with random people that are so much harder to have when everyone is in their own iPod/cellphone bubble. I once had a great afternoon meeting a girl on an amtrak train. Now, that would never happen. She'd be on her phone or iPod. We all think we are so important that we must provide updates 24/7 as to what we are doing. Or we all want to escape the world. I understand escape but if we escape too much we fail to understand our world and without understanding how can we change what needs to be changed and keep what needs to be kept. God, where is this post headed?

I know part of this is just being older and another part is that I'm full of contradictions. Look at me, I'm bitching about new technology in a forum that didn't exist twenty years ago. I will argue about the evils of the Internet while at the same time enjoying the freedom it gives me to write this stuff, blast it out there and not even care really if it gets a reaction at all. Yes, there is a certain paradox to all this. I'm full of contradictions. I bemoan cellphones and yet often walk down the street yakking away. I'm not excited about the iPod (isn't really just a better walkman?) but I use one at the gym.

But I have other concerns that go beyond the big picture. Ultimately, the end result of all these new devices will be more idiots crashing into me on the streets or crashing their cars because they are distracted from doing what they are supposed to be doing when outside the confines of their home--walking, driving, and breathing and being mindful of others trying to do the same.

Here's what technology can't do. Yesterday I came home a little down, a little out of it, etc. Waiting for me in my mailbox was a card from someone that lifted my spirits, changed my mood, etc. This person could have emailed or texted me but it wouldn't have been the same or had the same impact. There is still something to be said for getting something nice in the snail mail that technology can't top. Of course, I'm sure pre-pony express someone said the same thing about smoke signals or rocks with notes around them.

4 comments:

BayonneMike said...

You're singin my song, Rambler. Keep singin!

Gina said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Gina said...

Sure I was annoyed... The man wouldn't carry a phone, nor don a pocket sized walkie talkie ( which I purchased specifically to avoid this kind of scenerio), but forced me to roam around in 106 degree heat, carrying his beer sloshing around, climbing over sweaty bodies, working my way through the hoards of strangers, just about surrendering all hope of ever seeing him again, when there he was...the buzzert, not even the slightest concern or understanding of what I had just been put through. It sucked. Get a phone!
The bothayas are gonna drive some woman over the edge.
I just had a minirant over that one. Fugettaboutit.

Snail mail is great. I asked a blogger friend for her address just for that reason and am looking forward to getting something out to her.

Gina said...

uh...just kidding. :) or venting.