Blackberries
I'm thinking about blackberries. Not the kind you eat sprinkled over cheerios. I'm thinking about those little black devices with lots of buttons that allow their users to be connected, 24/7. I know someone who has two of them, brandishing one in each hand at all times, because she has two high-intensity jobs at the moment. Supposedly she has been directed to keep at least one of them in striking distance until 3:00 a.m. each day. What crisis she might have to deal with at 2:59 a.m. I cannot imagine, but she is in politics so I guess you never know.
My sister says I should get a blackberry. She says hers has actually improved her life, enabling her to keep her hectic life organized, helping to prevent various tasks/obligations/commitments from falling through the cracks.
If you've read a few of my previous posts, you will know that organization is not one of my strong suits. This defect of mine became once more apparent when I realized yesterday that I failed to register my son for the ACT test in September, something I am absolutely convinced I did way back in June. I remember patting myself on the back at the time, thankful that I would not have to worry about the deadline for registration later. But lo and behold, when I checked the website yesterday, August 23, there was no record of his registration. And to add insult to injury, the deadline for late registration was, you guessed it, August 22. And to add one more kick in the pants, the ACT registration office is closed on weekends, so I couldn't even place a phone call to inquire. My best guess as to what happened is that I entered my credit card information incorrectly, so the transaction was never completed. This has been known to happen.
I placed my hands against my temples and squeezed my eyes shut. How could this be? Here I have been badgering my poor son these past weeks to study, study, study, the test is in just a few weeks, then we can stop worrying about it, and now we're looking at another month of him being nagged by me, his incompetent mother, to study, study, study, for an extra four weeks, during which he will also have to go to school and crew practice, all the while working on his college applications and the elusive essay topic that goes along with it.
I pulled out the last six months of credit card bills, on the extremely off-chance the ACT people had billed me but not registered him. No unwarranted charges appeared. So I vented to my sister in an email about my frustrations, to which she responded that I should get a blackberry. "It will improve your life," she said.
Maybe it would. Normally I embrace technology that enhances my life. But I have a kind of knee-jerk reaction when I see people caressing their little fruity devices, paying more attention to the screen in front of them than to the person sitting beside them who is trying to carry on a conversation. It's like talking to a spineless parent whose little brat throws a temper tantrum, jumping up and down screaming "I want candy! I want candy! And I want it now!", and the parent responds by saying "of course you do honey let's go buy some right now!" leaving you alone smack in the middle of an earnest conversation about the war on terror or the price at the pumps or your parents' declining health or the fact that you're drowning and you need them to throw you a lifeline, but alas, they can't because they have to go buy their kid some candy right now.
Ben Stein's column today in the New York Times, entitled "Connected, Yes, but Hermetically Sealed," sums up my feelings exactly. He laments that people have chained themselves to technology, at the expense of human interaction and appreciation of all that goes on around them. "What would we do if cellphones and PDAs disappeared? We would be forced to think again. We would have to confront reality." And, he says, if you try a day or a week without being connected, "you will be shocked at what you discover. It's called life. It's called nature. It's called getting to know yourself."
And that's how I feel about it. I confess I do have an ancient PDA, one that I use for a date book and addresses. And I have a cellphone, but only family members know the number, and I don't answer it if I'm driving. It rarely rings anyway, since I don't share the number with most people. It's for emergencies, basically. It would be nice to have internet or email access when I'm sitting in the parking lot of the school, waiting for the kids to get out of practice or their after-school meeting. But now I use that time to read a magazine or a few pages of whatever book I have stashed in my purse, or if I'm so inclined I even pen a few lines. It's quiet time, and I need that.
I may relent and get a blackberry-like device one of these days. But until then, my kids will just have to suffer through my occasional lapses in performance, and my son will just have to endure studying for the ACT one more month. But first I have to register him.
My sister says I should get a blackberry. She says hers has actually improved her life, enabling her to keep her hectic life organized, helping to prevent various tasks/obligations/commitments from falling through the cracks.
If you've read a few of my previous posts, you will know that organization is not one of my strong suits. This defect of mine became once more apparent when I realized yesterday that I failed to register my son for the ACT test in September, something I am absolutely convinced I did way back in June. I remember patting myself on the back at the time, thankful that I would not have to worry about the deadline for registration later. But lo and behold, when I checked the website yesterday, August 23, there was no record of his registration. And to add insult to injury, the deadline for late registration was, you guessed it, August 22. And to add one more kick in the pants, the ACT registration office is closed on weekends, so I couldn't even place a phone call to inquire. My best guess as to what happened is that I entered my credit card information incorrectly, so the transaction was never completed. This has been known to happen.
I placed my hands against my temples and squeezed my eyes shut. How could this be? Here I have been badgering my poor son these past weeks to study, study, study, the test is in just a few weeks, then we can stop worrying about it, and now we're looking at another month of him being nagged by me, his incompetent mother, to study, study, study, for an extra four weeks, during which he will also have to go to school and crew practice, all the while working on his college applications and the elusive essay topic that goes along with it.
I pulled out the last six months of credit card bills, on the extremely off-chance the ACT people had billed me but not registered him. No unwarranted charges appeared. So I vented to my sister in an email about my frustrations, to which she responded that I should get a blackberry. "It will improve your life," she said.
Maybe it would. Normally I embrace technology that enhances my life. But I have a kind of knee-jerk reaction when I see people caressing their little fruity devices, paying more attention to the screen in front of them than to the person sitting beside them who is trying to carry on a conversation. It's like talking to a spineless parent whose little brat throws a temper tantrum, jumping up and down screaming "I want candy! I want candy! And I want it now!", and the parent responds by saying "of course you do honey let's go buy some right now!" leaving you alone smack in the middle of an earnest conversation about the war on terror or the price at the pumps or your parents' declining health or the fact that you're drowning and you need them to throw you a lifeline, but alas, they can't because they have to go buy their kid some candy right now.
Ben Stein's column today in the New York Times, entitled "Connected, Yes, but Hermetically Sealed," sums up my feelings exactly. He laments that people have chained themselves to technology, at the expense of human interaction and appreciation of all that goes on around them. "What would we do if cellphones and PDAs disappeared? We would be forced to think again. We would have to confront reality." And, he says, if you try a day or a week without being connected, "you will be shocked at what you discover. It's called life. It's called nature. It's called getting to know yourself."
And that's how I feel about it. I confess I do have an ancient PDA, one that I use for a date book and addresses. And I have a cellphone, but only family members know the number, and I don't answer it if I'm driving. It rarely rings anyway, since I don't share the number with most people. It's for emergencies, basically. It would be nice to have internet or email access when I'm sitting in the parking lot of the school, waiting for the kids to get out of practice or their after-school meeting. But now I use that time to read a magazine or a few pages of whatever book I have stashed in my purse, or if I'm so inclined I even pen a few lines. It's quiet time, and I need that.
I may relent and get a blackberry-like device one of these days. But until then, my kids will just have to suffer through my occasional lapses in performance, and my son will just have to endure studying for the ACT one more month. But first I have to register him.
posted by calabresewoman | 6:40 AM
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