Lilmisspoutine shrugs her shoulders upon hearing that bit of news: yes, that’s right: the next iteration of iPhone will soon be upon us.
It’s hard to believe that the iPhone took the world by storm less than a decade ago. Since then, the fruit-named company has become a huge newsmaker in its own right, and acquired a googleplex of fans and followers who are invisibly tethered, umbilical-cord like, to a half-inch thick rectangle with rounded corners and a shiny display that is almost perpetually on and never more than 10 inches from its owner’s fingers (distances in excess of this are likely to incur separation anxiety).
They are objects of perpetual visual and auditory fixation; with users engrossed in up-to-the-millisecond updates of their favourite artist, sports team, and the latest breaking news. The thin white lines of earbuds snaking conspicuously out from under hair whilst iPhone-philes amble across the crosswalk, blissfully unaware of motorists, cyclists, crossing guards, guide dogs, fellow pedestrians, and streetpoles, are familiar sights.
I still have not texted a single message to this day (abbreviation is still a great challenge to me). My thumbs are still pretty much the same original proportion as my other metacarpals are, and were at birth. I don’t suffer from technological apathy; I grew up singing the praises and recounting the woes of technology (an $800 Panasonic Genius microwave was the family pride and joy), and I still believe that iMacs are the best choice for computing (even when Apple shook hands with Intel to have the latter’s microprocessors in their computers. That should have been the turning point for me).
I’m not jealous about the phenom that the iPhone has become in such a short period of time, turning what I believed was a Cabbage Patch Kid fad into a fashion statement that is often accessorized with cases and skins in every possible flavour, including industrial-strength Griffin and Gumdrop cases, or bling Hello Kitty, gold-plated or diamond-encrusted skins, plus display protectors designed to keep those pesky, oily fingerprints and scratches at bay.
And apps. You can never have too many paid or free apps, especially on the iPhones I’ve seen; I’ve lost count of the number of swipes, pinches, and expletives needed to get through the apps directories. But my idea of burning calories involves an actual visit to an actual gym, not a pedometer app that counts how many steps I’ve taken to the bathroom, coffeemaker, or from the parking lot to the shopping mall.
It’s a personal joy to stay off the grid and enjoy my weekends, meals, and sleep non-interruptus. Not to have to shell out a minimum of $50-$75/month plus applicable taxes for the contractual privilege of being connected to the Internet 24/7. Not to need a magnifying glass to play Angry Birds on the iPhone, which really aren’t going to have progressively larger screen sizes for obvious reasons of practicality. Not to have to constantly charge that smartphone because the confounded display is too big and colourful as it is, and guzzles battery juice at an alarming rate.
No, I don’t understand the worldly obsession with iPhones, and I’m happier that way.