I was feeling really vulnerable the other day, kind of like a French yachtsman off the coast of Somalia. I was in uncharted waters when I crossed the Big Muddy this last weekend.
I bought a phone.
Actually, it is probably not called a phone anymore. It’s probably more of a communication/multi-media interactive device. Yep, that’s what I got. My wife got a bigger one with bigger icon-type things but I wanted to stay low to the ground, keep my feet planted in the reality of what I really needed, not go crazy with all the bells and whistles that so many of my contemporaries have reduced themselves to.
I got an I-Phone.
‘Whoa there little pony,’ you’re probably saying. ‘We all heard you say you didn’t go crazy.’
You’re right, you did. I did say that. I didn’t get the new I-phone. I got the one-one step down I-Phone. Frankly, I drew the line at being able to talk to the Space Shuttle while I sat on the toilet in the morning. Nope, don’t need to do that. Why get a piece of hardware that you truly don’t need?
Besides, this one was less in price than the regular little ‘flip phones’. But here’s a question: When did this happen? Hmm? When did I get so busy or so important that there is a standing need to be in contact with the weather reports in Nepal if I need it at the touch of a finger on a device smaller than the pack of cigarettes my Dad smoked when I was a kid? I got a better phone than the President of this here United States, and he truly does need to be able to talk to the Shuttle when he’s on the crapper. He only has a Blackberry. He can only text America’ Bravest. I can Facebook those little bastards WHILE I’m texting them AND listen to my music or watch a movie at the same time.
For some of you (geez, I sound like a geezer, but…) we remember rotary phones and the first two numbers were in the form of a name. For example, our house line started with AMHERST and the first two numbers were whatever was under A and M. As a matter of fact, when people asked for your phone number, you would quote ‘A, M,’ then the other five digits. You started living large when you got that space age-looking phone--The Trim Line! It had push-button technology. I remember feeling like we were part of NASA. Something with so many buttons had to come from the space program; it just had too.
Cult groups started to figure out ways to play songs on the phone with the different tones each button produced. Then someone wised up and sold just the cords, either the one from the wall outlet to the phone or from the phone body to the handset, long cords. Now, you were mobile! It was always better to get the cord from the wall to the phone because if you did the other, you had a tendency to reach the end and pull the phone off the wall. We went through about a half-dozen phones that way. You could talk to your Uncle Ervin about his gout and stir the chicken fried steak at the same time. What will they think of next? The Trim Line, tucked safely under your arm. It even had a light for night use!
Now, I can’t figure out how to turn my phone on.
The day before we went to look at phones, I was thinking. What if I came across an accident at an inter-section? My phone was out of batteries and there, right next to you, the victim of a red-light runner, was your phone. I pick it up to dial 911 (a product of the space-age push button technology) and I DON’T KNOW HOW YOUR PHONE WORKS! I lean down and poke your unconscious body with my foot “Hey, mister, how the hell do you turn your phone on?”
You don’t answer.
Where’s my trim line with a seven hundred foot extension cord when you need it?
I got an I-Phone.
‘Whoa there little pony,’ you’re probably saying. ‘We all heard you say you didn’t go crazy.’
You’re right, you did. I did say that. I didn’t get the new I-phone. I got the one-one step down I-Phone. Frankly, I drew the line at being able to talk to the Space Shuttle while I sat on the toilet in the morning. Nope, don’t need to do that. Why get a piece of hardware that you truly don’t need?
Besides, this one was less in price than the regular little ‘flip phones’. But here’s a question: When did this happen? Hmm? When did I get so busy or so important that there is a standing need to be in contact with the weather reports in Nepal if I need it at the touch of a finger on a device smaller than the pack of cigarettes my Dad smoked when I was a kid? I got a better phone than the President of this here United States, and he truly does need to be able to talk to the Shuttle when he’s on the crapper. He only has a Blackberry. He can only text America’ Bravest. I can Facebook those little bastards WHILE I’m texting them AND listen to my music or watch a movie at the same time.
For some of you (geez, I sound like a geezer, but…) we remember rotary phones and the first two numbers were in the form of a name. For example, our house line started with AMHERST and the first two numbers were whatever was under A and M. As a matter of fact, when people asked for your phone number, you would quote ‘A, M,’ then the other five digits. You started living large when you got that space age-looking phone--The Trim Line! It had push-button technology. I remember feeling like we were part of NASA. Something with so many buttons had to come from the space program; it just had too.
Cult groups started to figure out ways to play songs on the phone with the different tones each button produced. Then someone wised up and sold just the cords, either the one from the wall outlet to the phone or from the phone body to the handset, long cords. Now, you were mobile! It was always better to get the cord from the wall to the phone because if you did the other, you had a tendency to reach the end and pull the phone off the wall. We went through about a half-dozen phones that way. You could talk to your Uncle Ervin about his gout and stir the chicken fried steak at the same time. What will they think of next? The Trim Line, tucked safely under your arm. It even had a light for night use!
Now, I can’t figure out how to turn my phone on.
The day before we went to look at phones, I was thinking. What if I came across an accident at an inter-section? My phone was out of batteries and there, right next to you, the victim of a red-light runner, was your phone. I pick it up to dial 911 (a product of the space-age push button technology) and I DON’T KNOW HOW YOUR PHONE WORKS! I lean down and poke your unconscious body with my foot “Hey, mister, how the hell do you turn your phone on?”
You don’t answer.
Where’s my trim line with a seven hundred foot extension cord when you need it?
