I finally own a smartphone.
I know. Big deal.
Who doesn’t own a smartphone in 2013? These days, babies squirt out from between their mothers' legs demanding unlimited data plans.
Yet up until a few months back, I still sported this relic.
Forget apps. With three letters per key on this beast, Tolstoy wrote War and Peace faster than I could text: “You have to call me because I am a frickin’ dinosaur.”
I joined the 21st century shortly before Christmas. My Love was out upgrading Li’l Diva’s iPhone (you read that correctly, I was out techno-geeked by a 12-year-old girl) when she learned I could glom onto her calling plan at a big discount. Money aside, I think My Love bought me an iPhone simply because she was tired of me whipping out my clamshell in public.
A few months into this new era of communications, I admit it’s nice to finally be part of the in-crowd. I love checking my email while killing time in line at the bank or Tweeting a bon mot while waiting for last night’s shows to rewind in the VCR. In crowded rooms, I bury my head to browse Facebook and Instagram without concern as to where I walk or who is trying to engage me with banter like “Yo, dipshlitz – look out for that open manhole!”
However, owning a smartphone does at times make me seem dumb. Mostly this comes from my lackluster typing skills being more obvious by downsizing from three fingers and a thumb on a full keyboard to a single sausage-sized digit on a virtual keypad smaller than Lady Gaga’s modesty. I try to use the voice-to-text feature whenever I can but that’s embarrassing in public places. Though probably not as embarrassing as my obsession to get Siri to talk dirty to me. Her best effort to date: “Compost, peat moss, humus.”
My keyboarding inadequacies became very apparent when I was in Houston at the Dad 2.0 Summit trying to coordinate sharing a cab from the hotel to the airport. I was having breakfast in one part of the building while my friend was checking out in another, so we exchanged Tweets. Given the urgency to make flights and knowing my lack of typing coordination and speed, I consciously decided to save time by not capitalizing words or using punctuation.
As a result, I sent several of my past English teachers and editors to their graves and spinning.
“Yep. I just finished eating. You in the lobby?” turned into the following statement that will prevent me from ever holding public office:
I can only hope Siri saw that. Maybe she’ll be jealous enough to call me a “filthy, muddy, silt.”