In the TV ad, people with diabetes are waving their phones at their arms and ziiip getting a glucose reading. Evidently you used to have to stab yourself to get the same result but now you just have a doo-dad on your arm that your phone talks to. Probably it also knows whether to notify your doctor, or a donut shop.
At least one of the reasons I’m glad I’m not diabetic is that you could tape my phone right to the doo-dad and leave it overnight and in the morning it would just fart and fall off .
Yes, it is supposedly a smart phone.
But you can line it up with all the other smart phones out there and it would be like the picture of your kid’s first grade class, all spruced up in front of a banner that says MISS WHITTEN’S ALL-STARS. Psst: they’re not all stars. One or two shine bright and some of them eat boogers. I don’t ask much of my smart phone, and even so it does not live up to expectations.
I know there’s nothing a good smart phone cannot do. I’ve driven friends around and mentioned a mild hankering and within a minute someone in the back seat has located a spot to hanker in, and summoned directions, and added a musical sound track, and anticipated my next hankering. By the time we arrive at our destination, the phone has wrapped up my taxes, contributed to the correct candidate, and found a suspicious mole.
I don’t even think I get all my calls.
Here’s a thing my phone does. Sometimes someone sends me a text message that is clearly a response to a gang of people but I can’t see anything anyone else in the gang writes. I get snippets of conversation without the replies and have to guess what’s going on and with whom. All I have is the uncomfortable feeling people are talking about me. I have, on these occasions, handed my phone to a competent young person to troubleshoot, and they always poke away at it for a minute and then hand it back with the diagnosis: “Huh.”
Sometimes I no sooner pick up my phone than it informs me that it’s too full and nothing is going to work properly until it disgorges itself of something. I don’t know what. There are a few photos in there but no apps that didn’t come standard. My phone might be bulimic.
I count on my phone for so little that it is easy for me to leave it behind when I go anywhere. Even at home it’s not likely to be in the same room as me. I’m as prone to addiction as the next citizen and if I really could get useful or entertaining information out of my phone I’d probably be poking at it all day long. So I’m not inclined to upgrade. If I knew my phone could lock my front door while I was in another state, I’d be checking it every few seconds to see if my door was unlocked after all. That’s not healthy.
Life is more enjoyable when you not only don’t know everything, but you know you don’t know everything, and you don’t know how to find out. It’s okay. It’s probably the way it should be. Just me, Nature, and my phone back home on the counter, eating boogers.
PS: Happy Birthday Dave!