Technology
Even though I’m an old guy, I try to keep current with technology – to a point. There are aspects of current technology that have certainly made my professional life easier and more productive. Some things I can do with modern technology that no one was ever able to do in the past. I think data management and imaging tools are probably what has revolutionized my world the most. I hated phones in the days when everyone had a landline and no one, except rich people and secret agents, had mobile phones. I hate phones more now, but find myself tethered to my smart phone like it’s my right butt cheek.
There are times I catch myself mindlessly poking at the screen without any apparent reason. I check mail, check the news, check the weather, check Facebook, check bank balances, on and on. It’s like my Dad with cigarettes. I remember him lighting up a cigarette while he still had one going, just because the habit of doing so dictated his actions. I think smart phone addiction is akin to tobacco addiction for one primary reason, the concept of instant gratification. I can poke that screen with my finger and in an instant a really cool picture shows me how far away the next snow squall is. A few moments later I need another fix, so I check the news to see what shenanigans President Asshat is pulling. I’m so infuriated by his latest pussy-grabbing antic that I have to, imperatively must, post my outrage on Facebook. Fifteen minutes later I have to check Facebook again to see how many likes, comments, reactions there are. In a half hour I need to see how that snow squall is progressing. The cycle continues.
At times I get so disgusted with myself that I just set the damned phone down and vow not to touch it unless it rings. When it does ring, the caller is from 1-800fuckyou to say “Congratulations!!! You have won blah, blah, blah.” OK, maybe I’m being a little hyperbolic, but this is how it feels.
I travel frequently with my job, so I can’t completely disconnect or put the phone down. Often, my phone is my only connection with clients and colleagues. I can check and respond to e-mails and texts while dashing through an airport, hoping I don’t trip on the moving sidewalk while typing a hurried message.
Because I am an old guy, I am one of those people that refuses to deploy text language. I refuse to type things like “U R gr8.” I just can’t, won’t. Besides, my finger is quick, and I can type “you” quicker than most people can type “U.” I think that comes from my speed on a conventional keyboard.
Mom insisted that I take typing in high school. I was one of three boys in the class. All the girls had just finished shorthand and typing was their next step in preparation for a secretarial career. Mom certainly had no intentions of me wearing a pink collar to work, but I think she was intuitive enough to know that keyboard skills were going to become a necessity for everyone. To this day, when I see someone typing with just an index finger I smile and silently mutter a “thank-you Mom.”
www.bluewatertales.com
There are times I catch myself mindlessly poking at the screen without any apparent reason. I check mail, check the news, check the weather, check Facebook, check bank balances, on and on. It’s like my Dad with cigarettes. I remember him lighting up a cigarette while he still had one going, just because the habit of doing so dictated his actions. I think smart phone addiction is akin to tobacco addiction for one primary reason, the concept of instant gratification. I can poke that screen with my finger and in an instant a really cool picture shows me how far away the next snow squall is. A few moments later I need another fix, so I check the news to see what shenanigans President Asshat is pulling. I’m so infuriated by his latest pussy-grabbing antic that I have to, imperatively must, post my outrage on Facebook. Fifteen minutes later I have to check Facebook again to see how many likes, comments, reactions there are. In a half hour I need to see how that snow squall is progressing. The cycle continues.
At times I get so disgusted with myself that I just set the damned phone down and vow not to touch it unless it rings. When it does ring, the caller is from 1-800fuckyou to say “Congratulations!!! You have won blah, blah, blah.” OK, maybe I’m being a little hyperbolic, but this is how it feels.
I travel frequently with my job, so I can’t completely disconnect or put the phone down. Often, my phone is my only connection with clients and colleagues. I can check and respond to e-mails and texts while dashing through an airport, hoping I don’t trip on the moving sidewalk while typing a hurried message.
Because I am an old guy, I am one of those people that refuses to deploy text language. I refuse to type things like “U R gr8.” I just can’t, won’t. Besides, my finger is quick, and I can type “you” quicker than most people can type “U.” I think that comes from my speed on a conventional keyboard.
Mom insisted that I take typing in high school. I was one of three boys in the class. All the girls had just finished shorthand and typing was their next step in preparation for a secretarial career. Mom certainly had no intentions of me wearing a pink collar to work, but I think she was intuitive enough to know that keyboard skills were going to become a necessity for everyone. To this day, when I see someone typing with just an index finger I smile and silently mutter a “thank-you Mom.”
www.bluewatertales.com
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