Friday, February 21, 2014

2168 Siren Siri

I confess. I've been slow to adopt the smartphone. I have reasons for this, although to many they don't seem compelling. One is that I fear invasions of my privacy. Well, not actually fear. It's more accurate to say I resent them.

This may be an artifact of my hippie-ish youth, when many of the places I lived, dorm rooms, crash pads, etcetera, involved people rummaging around in my stuff at odd times. Nothing was ever taken, no crime committed, but having your life an open book should always be a matter of you first voluntarily handing someone that book.

Secondly, I fear myself. When I look at those who have fallen under the smartphone spell, they seem as if they're so enthralled by its doodadery that they must spend every waking moment with it. Enamored by its charms. Seduced by the Siren song of Siri.

I fear my personal OCD tendencies. I know that if I were to have at my fingertips the ability to constantly check my email and search the web for any little random question; about origins, or etymology, or the spelling of an obscure one-hit-wonder rock group's name, I would. Instant access would be total excess obsess.

Sadly... I have found recently, that whenever I pull out my flipphone to answer a call, I'm the object of scorn. "Get with the 21st Century, Funny Guy." "What's that, Mister Star Trek?" "Worried about the NSA? Where are you hiding your foil hat?" And etc. This, my friends, is techno-chauvinism. Or worse, techno-arrogance.

Would those same people openly criticize my pre-millennial car? I think not.  And that's how I know they are true addicts. They want me to validate them by sharing their secret suffering.

Comfort requires that everyone in the nudist colony be naked.

America, ya gotta love it. 

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