Once upon a time, technology made the Blackberry. The subtext was that such devices were only for high-powered business people who really, really needed access to email and calendar applications, even when they were out doing something important like visiting oil rigs or checking their uncut diamonds.
I could sit here and say that I wanted a Droid phone because I need to be able to know when super time-sensitive emails come in. It does stress me out that someone’s website could explode on Friday night and I may not know until Monday morning, at which time they would want to set me on fire. Granted, they could call, but most people get pissed off about having to CALL, too. So, yes, I do kind of need the Droid for work. That’s not going to change the fact that I was in Amanda’s back seat with the flashlight app set to red, holding my phone under my chin and making ghost noises.
What do I think of my new birthday present/toy/tiny computer thing? It is everything I’d hoped it would be, and I don’t get to say that very often. As I was driving home last night with my Lady GaGa Pandora station playing through a phone that was plugged into my car’s auxiliary input, I thought was “this is the future they promised us…ok, my car’s not flying, but this is it.”
This is what they kept swearing that the internet would be: this life that follows you because you can fit it in your purse. Everyone you know being consolidated into one data stream widget. Instant access to IMDb when someone says, “whatever happened to the sister from Even Stevens?” News feeds of LOLcats. Lil Wayne soundboards. Video of friends doing things that you won’t remember tomorrow because you’re all trashed. To-do list apps that let you sort by category and set up reminders. Creepy yet awesome ways of GPSing your friends’ locations. Red flashlights to hold under your chin.
Oh, and also email.
My friends, it is a beautiful thing. I live on the internet, but I’ve still been running around for 4 days feeling like I live in the future. If this blows MY mind, my mom may just burst into flames when she gets hers. I can’t wait until the next time my mom gets in my car and asks if I have any bluegrass in my iPod.
“Nope, but I made a Ricky Skaggs station on Pandora.”