The phony
Posted on July 18, 2010
Filed Under May I Interject?, New York, Thought |
Maybe you know, maybe you don’t: I lost my phone Thursday night. It slipped into the cracks of a cab–Not just any cab, a minivan cab (somehow this detail is significant), and was literally never heard from again.
While my luck is renowned for ripening to rotten, I realized that this was the first time in my life I had lost a cell phone. The time my primitive Nokia was stolen at Target in Corpus Christi, TX doesn’t count (I was 17 and admittedly a little too ghetto, as was Target at the time). Then, at age 17 i.e. 2004, having a cell phone was crucial but still leaning towards optional. Now everyone has a cell phone; Even the famous comparison to the Eastern world “starving child” won’t do– That kid probably has a cell phone.
So I started thinking about all of this, and realized that this loss (which initially drove me insane and brought a sudden flood of severe depression) could easily be turned into an opportunity for a new-age social experiment. Alas, I have made no effort to get a new cell phone. I have been thinking of ways I could combine other various technologies to survive without one.
Additionally, I have had an amazing few days. I forgot what life was like when you could just go somewhere and not always have the nervous habit of checking your phone for something that’s happened or someone that’s called. I am sure I have spent an enormous chunk of time watching the pot boil. Knowing you simply “cannot be reached” is a phenomenon in this day and age. It’s one less trace back to your name, which now is less of a token of identification but more of a token of attribution. Perhaps this is why I focus so much on people calling me “Chelsea.” At one point the somewhat unique spelling of my named symbolized a personal choice made on behalf of my parents, and has in indirect ways affected my life. But now my name is just tired and only worth its generic phonetic spelling, or just the understanding for simple attribution–I paid $x to XX, I have account #xxxxxxx. Why am I even fighting to say there is a “y” at the end of my name? My name seems to just be here for others and not for me.
Communication is exhausting. Its form does not follow function. I walked through the park all day completely at ease with everything just because my phone does not exist. I have often suggested creating a filter for phones allowing a person to set up specific life modes. If I am driving, my phone won’t ring. It will go straight to voicemail. If I am home (in home mode) then it will ring, but not from work. If I’m at work my phone will only ring for certain people. It’s just like when you used to pick up the phone to return a call and you’d say, “Sorry, I wasn’t home.”
Thus I begin this pilgrimage to relax myself into a positive combination of technologies. Surely the same combination method can’t benefit everyone equally.
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