Friday, September 3, 2010


I have broken up with my CrackBerry and have fallen in deep lust with my iPhone 4.

Like a deck of cards that fits perfectly in the palm of my hand, my iPhone is full of possibilities that shuffle around like a magician's sleight-of-hand trick in Vegas. Pretty pictures made prettier with hipster filters, FaceTime with my friends' 15-year-old (one of my few friends with an iPhone 4). Apps for music, apps for games, apps that inspire, apps that keep track of the balance on my Starbucks card, apps that practically wipe my butt and wash my hands afterward.

There's a lot of newness in my house lately and I always find myself a little resistant when it comes to truly embracing change, and this was no exception. Though I'd secretly desired an iPhone since its inception and had watched helplessly as my husband abandoned his dinosaur Nokia flip phone and became an iPhone cultist over the past two years, I'd resisted the tug toward "easy" rather than "practical."

All I do is call and text, I'd said to myself. It would be wasted on me.

And the first few days that I had my new phone, I left it in the box, afraid to touch it. Afraid of its power. Intimidated, for sure. What if it doesn't like me? What if I can't figure it out? And when I did finally plug it in, it was a little too easy for me. I was used to my BlackBerry's menu-driven interface which, like a regular PC, demanded that I always return to the main menu, closing out files and folders as I went along so that everything would be in its neat, proper place when I needed it again.

But my iPhone is like a designer's desk, messy and full of seemingly disorganized chaos, a baker's case of goodies that you want to dive right into. There are apps and docs and messages flying all around all the time. There's music playing in the background when my mom calls me to ask for a picture of the new dog, which I take while we're chatting and manipulate to look like an old Polaroid photo, then email it to her before we're off the phone. If I get lost on a hike in my new 'hood, I can pull up Google Earth to find myself... if I want to. It's all good, my iPhone says to me. I know where you are. Play some Biggy Smalls and we'll get you back on track soon enough.

My iPhone is still new, so maybe one day this lust will simmer down into a warm, comfortable companionship and I'll be able to keep my hands off of it for at least a few minutes at a time.

Don't take this the wrong way, BlackBerry, but I don't miss you... Trust me, you did what you could and were the best you can be, but I've changed. I feel bad saying this, but I've moved on. It's not you... it's me.

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