I have harped, ranted and griped about this before and will again, but I am overwhelmed by servicing and serving an army of machines.
Yesterday I lost my IPOD Touch, a machine I call SHINY. I never wanted SHINY, sad to say, but my husband, a techno fan, gave her to me as a Christmas gift two years ago. I filled her with pictures and some music and came to value her when I traveled to far off places as she fetches my emails and let’s me see that the world in my corner of the globe still spins without having to suss out an internet café, phone or newspaper.
How did I lose her? I have no idea. I remember taking her slim self out of a zipper pocket in my purse where I also stow my camera on a clip and my phone in a special pocket. I began charging her, which I had not done in ages and it was going to take a while. Of course it takes my computer powered ON to charge the SHINY. And it takes a different charger to boost my camera battery, and a still different cable to power feed the reading device, my Kindle (an anniversary gift from my adoring husband.) It is a regular riot of cables and attachments, which live either on my desk or in my travel bag. And somehow I lost her. Maybe SHINY went back into my purse; she either fell out or was lifted by someone in deep techno need. But she is gone.
Last night as we walked to see the new movie Julie and Julia I ranted as I attempted to keep pace with my long-legged husband, this means I often talk to his back. It may be his strategy because I do complain while walking. I hate walking, but that is another rant or blog or interior monologue. So I am ranting about how much more I loved having just a land line for the phone and letters with crunchy paper and artistic stamps, that I long for a time when I don’t have to be so damn up to date on every silly thing from hair-dos of the rich and famous, to bundled derivatives, bat disease and children’s medication. I went on and on, and I sounded, as I said to him, like a crazy old lady. And perhaps I am becoming one.
My family and I are on hiatus from the country (see a blog or two back) thus we are here downtown to revel in the glories of City weekends. This means I cannot escape to the timelessness of dirt, hills and berries. I am forced to confront the realities of my machine-based life and I am bridling.
I do love being able to find my children by cell phone, but I am more than content with my seven year old Sanyo phone that has been cobbled together so often in the Sprint store that my children call it Frankenphone, as it is obvious that the pieces do not match. The man at Sprint has banished me from the store saying there is nothing else he can do, all the pieces are gone and I need to upgrade. I do not want to upgrade and that is my problem.
I want to go back . . . not downgrade, but simplify.
I know there are others like me, but I am afraid they are Birthers, or revisionist history folks. Where are the intelligent, well informed people who want to read newspapers and books, get a letter with a stamp or slow cook a meal? I do not want to worry about charging an army of machines in the off chance that a phone, music, email, or book will not be immediately and electronically at the ready; or waiting to be lost and replaced to feed our flagging economy. I sound old and grumpy. Well maybe I am.