I know I act like it does, but it doesn’t. It’s good for taking calls, usually. Good for directions. Great for finding out how people feel about the restaurant you’re about to walk into, but even that is a little too much. Every night I tell Siri, Wake me up at 6:00 AM. My phone is great for that.
I read the whole Is Facebook Making Us Lonely article, which is worth a read, but not worth thinking too hard about because you already know the answer. Do you sit by yourself, obsessing over the highly edited lives of others? Then, yes, Facebook is making you lonely. Do you engage in lively discourse with your favorite people in the world who you don’t see nearly enough? Then, no, you’ll probably survive Facebook.
But this isn’t about that. This is about the stupid phone. The fact that the second I’m bored, I’ll reach for my phone. Pavlov’s phone. I wish I had someone to smack me on the hand.
(This, by the way, is not an invitation. Though if you did smack me on the hand, I probably wouldn’t hold it against you.)
Many, many years ago I had a roommate who managed an invitation to a party at Leonardo DiCaprio’s house. I was lounging about, doing something else, when I got a call.
Me: What’s up?
Roommate: Nothing.
Me: Then why did you call?
Roommate: Because everyone is outside on the deck, making calls.
Pathetic, but at least it was a call and not the next move in Words With Friends against your cousin in Iowa.
Today I’m going to resist the phone. It’ll be a monk-like endeavor and true release will probably take years of sitting upon a mountain top, but for now I’ll settle with being a little twitchy and maybe talking to an extra neighbor or two.
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