iLose

I was fairly disappointed in myself as I set out on the journey of a lifetime upon finding my baggage encumbered by a giant bag o' cords for all my contraptions. I should have just thrown machinery to the wind and vowed to commit 100% to the road, embracing the moments. (But then how would I have shared it all with you, right?)

I hate that I've become one of those people who can't be away from their Crackberry for more than an hour without having a meltdown.* I get the shakes if I can't find a WiFi connection for my laptop. (Starbucks, FTW!) It's sad that my local road-trips (1-3 hours in length) are dampered while waiting for my iPod to charge back up for use. (Seriously, turning the damn thing on drains half the battery. Where you at on that, Apple? And don't even try to talk me into buying a newer version. A contraption is a contraption, and I expect results, yo.)

I have a dear friend who refuses to give in to the iWorld, and I can't say I completely blame her. (Earmuffs, my sweet Mac.) In terms of contraptions, Apple is doing some nice work (minus the aforementioned iPod battery fail). But in creating such lovely machinery, they've made it far too easy for people like me to become completely reliant, even subservient, to my gadgets. And readers? I'm so not that girl.

I was the one who rocked the pager in high school...and wasn't a drug dealer. (My high school years were 1996-2000, by the by. I.e., way past the era of the pager's coolness. If there every really was one.) And while everyone else was in 2009 enjoying the awesome world of sweet apps and uber-fast internet via mobile phone, I was exploring the cutting-edge world of...wait for it...ringtones. Look. Out.

And now I have a GPS. My Garmin literally tells me what to do. IT'S A MACHINE. Now, granted, I bought this particular contraption because it tells me how to get places, which, that I am relying on a talking box is inherently sick. But it sasses me! The thing actually argues with me. Call me crazy, but I swear the tone changes from pleasant to pissed when it has to recalculate because I've (once again) chosen to trust my own sense of direction over its "short cut." (Things have actually improved with this contraption upon changing the voice from the American broad to the sexy Aussie. Chicken and I also named him "Chauncy.") (Indeed, I realize I named the robot. Which means I'll keep it forever. Or until the technology is defunct. Next month.)

So while my affinity for the gadgets troubles me deeply, I do justify it ("Danger, Will Robinson!") by insisting that such contraptions allow me to connect with real people: my phone to text and email (and occasionally even call someone), my camera to take pics to share, my iPod to reminisce, and Chauncy to get me to social gatherings. That's got to count for something, right?

...Bueller?

*Can you imagine if I owned an iPhone?!