I’ve officially crossed over to the darkside.
While I’ve always been somewhat of a techie that always wanted to have the newest toys whenever they were released (I’m shocked that I wasn’t one of those waiting in line for the iPhone when it came out), my addition to cell phones remained relatively mild compared to some people that I know.
Sure I had to have the Motorola Razr when it first came out, and naturally one of the first touch-screen phones that gained a decent market share had to be in my pocket.
But when it came to the world of the PDA – the advanced land of Palm and Blackberry reserved for corporate tycoons and those who wanted to feel more important than they actually were – I was perfectly content passing by.
After all, it wasn’t uncommon for me to make conversation at a party about how technology was ruining interpersonal communication. We can no longer spend time alone without being available at a moment’s notice – often times with those trying to call on the other end getting angry if they don’t get through on the first ring.
I still stand by the belief that my son will never know the true terror of calling a girl’s house and having to ask her father permission to speak to his daughter – something that still sends chills down my spine.
And it was an easy argument to make considering that I never had the phone that could send and receive e-mail just like a computer as well as book restaurant reservations and plane tickets and find you a babysitter with minimal effort. All of that was for the conformists.
When I went in to Verizon Wireless two weeks ago to get a new phone, however, I couldn’t help but be drawn to the Blackberry Storm and it’s unique touch-screen format that reminded me a lot of the iPhone without having to worry about the ridiculous AT&T contact and the horrible coverage and service that accompanies it.
It took about 45 seconds of the salesman explaining the features before I told him to box it up.
And naturally I had absolutely no idea how to use it.
Part of my motivation was to beat out my father who had picked up his own Blackberry several months before – something that blew my mind since he was the man who told me he would never own a digital camera (he’s purchased two Nikons that were $5,500 each when brand new) and that cell phones were only a tool for emergencies.
I couldn’t let a guy like that show me up in the technology department.
Even as I write this, I’m still not completely sure how to take full advantage of the pocket-sized computer that I spend the majority of my time playing with – whether it’s reading up-to-the-minute stories from the Associated Press or scanning pages on the Facebook application.
And last night the phone itself charged while sitting on a copy of Abbie Hoffman’s “Steal This Book” in the shadow of a Hunter S. Thompson poster that hangs from my bedroom wall – something that I’m sure made these counterculture heroes roll over in their respective graves.
But even though the revolution is going to be televised, it’s also going to be text messaged and distributed in viral video, so it’s pretty much my duty to make sure that I’m able to receive the information when it becomes necessary.
Just don’t get angry when I don’t answer on the first ring. I’ll be too busy reading up on how technology is ruining the world on Wikipedia and feeling nothing at all like a hypocrite.
I think that I hear something ringing now.
While I’ve always been somewhat of a techie that always wanted to have the newest toys whenever they were released (I’m shocked that I wasn’t one of those waiting in line for the iPhone when it came out), my addition to cell phones remained relatively mild compared to some people that I know.
Sure I had to have the Motorola Razr when it first came out, and naturally one of the first touch-screen phones that gained a decent market share had to be in my pocket.
But when it came to the world of the PDA – the advanced land of Palm and Blackberry reserved for corporate tycoons and those who wanted to feel more important than they actually were – I was perfectly content passing by.
After all, it wasn’t uncommon for me to make conversation at a party about how technology was ruining interpersonal communication. We can no longer spend time alone without being available at a moment’s notice – often times with those trying to call on the other end getting angry if they don’t get through on the first ring.
I still stand by the belief that my son will never know the true terror of calling a girl’s house and having to ask her father permission to speak to his daughter – something that still sends chills down my spine.
And it was an easy argument to make considering that I never had the phone that could send and receive e-mail just like a computer as well as book restaurant reservations and plane tickets and find you a babysitter with minimal effort. All of that was for the conformists.
When I went in to Verizon Wireless two weeks ago to get a new phone, however, I couldn’t help but be drawn to the Blackberry Storm and it’s unique touch-screen format that reminded me a lot of the iPhone without having to worry about the ridiculous AT&T contact and the horrible coverage and service that accompanies it.
It took about 45 seconds of the salesman explaining the features before I told him to box it up.
And naturally I had absolutely no idea how to use it.
Part of my motivation was to beat out my father who had picked up his own Blackberry several months before – something that blew my mind since he was the man who told me he would never own a digital camera (he’s purchased two Nikons that were $5,500 each when brand new) and that cell phones were only a tool for emergencies.
I couldn’t let a guy like that show me up in the technology department.
Even as I write this, I’m still not completely sure how to take full advantage of the pocket-sized computer that I spend the majority of my time playing with – whether it’s reading up-to-the-minute stories from the Associated Press or scanning pages on the Facebook application.
And last night the phone itself charged while sitting on a copy of Abbie Hoffman’s “Steal This Book” in the shadow of a Hunter S. Thompson poster that hangs from my bedroom wall – something that I’m sure made these counterculture heroes roll over in their respective graves.
But even though the revolution is going to be televised, it’s also going to be text messaged and distributed in viral video, so it’s pretty much my duty to make sure that I’m able to receive the information when it becomes necessary.
Just don’t get angry when I don’t answer on the first ring. I’ll be too busy reading up on how technology is ruining the world on Wikipedia and feeling nothing at all like a hypocrite.
I think that I hear something ringing now.
