I love my iPhone. I really do. As a piece of design, it’s flawless. Technologically speaking, it’s light years ahead of my (former) Blackberry, and it’s just plain fun to use. Not since I was about 12 years old have I waved a lightsaber around with such glee.
The one downfall, or so I’m realizing, is that information gets to me far too fast and in ever-growing quantity. Today, Manny Ramirez was suspended by Major League Baseball for 50 games for consuming a controlled substance. Within seconds of the news breaking, I was tweeted, IM’ed, emailed, texted, and folks were commenting on my Facebook page. This was before I had even read the story — online with 3G speed on my iPhone, of course.
Yesterday, I had about an hour to kill between meetings. I sat down to have some lunch and noticed the New York Times beside me. It was a little frightening that I couldn’t remember the last time I read a newspaper that was actually a newspaper. Usually it’s clipped, snipped, and posted online with all kinds of ads around it. And if it’s on my phone, it’s often interrupted by a phone call or text message.
But this newspaper comes with no online interface, no pop up ads, and blissfully, no interruptions. The writing was intelligent and reasoned, and along with conveying information it told the story. I felt oddly relaxed and nurtured just by reading the paper. Something people have done (though now in dramatically decreasing numbers) for decades.
The sliding scale of acceptibility is becoming generally, well, accepted. Musicians who can’t sing get AutoTune’d. Folks who can’t spell rely on T9 and built in spell checkers. We have rejected quality and experience in favor of immediacy.
I’m glad the world can find me so quickly, but do they need to? Do I need them to?
It’s all too much …
