I have an addiction. Like any other addiction, this one began quite innocently, and was even exciting for the first few months. Yet now I’m starting to resent the dependency, and I’m ready to wean myself back into normal life. I’m addicted to my iPhone.
Tech writers frequently poke fun at “Crackberry Addicts,” Blackberry phone users who cannot stop their thumbs from involuntarily sending short, unnecessary text messages to each other. That’s sissy stuff; a Blackberry addiction is nothing compared to a bona-fide iPhone obsession. At least most Blackberry users stop with text messages. We iPhone fanatics have to deal with Applications—the thousands of single-purpose computer programs available for iPhones, all of which Apple advertises without mentioning how Applications (Apps) are electronic forms of crack. After you’ve used one App, you cannot stop downloading and using others, no matter how superfluous they may be.
“There’s an App for that!” has become one of the most integral parts of Apple’s iPhone advertising campaign; it is the foremost feature that distinguishes the iPhone from other smart phones. Want to check your flight status by touching one button? There’s an App for that. Can’t choose a restaurant in a foreign country? There’s an App for that. Did you hear a great song in an elevator and you want to find it? There’s an App for that. In fact, there seems to be an App for almost anything, including a virtual Zippo lighter for concerts and a touch-screen game that involves popping plastic bubbles. Each of these Applications drops a small, multicolored icon onto the iPhone menu, and soon scrolling through the menu is like visiting a candy store.
Now I know the Apps seem like innocent productivity tools, but that’s the diabolical scheme: once you start using them, you can’t stop. It doesn’t matter where you are; as soon as you encounter a situation that remotely relates to an App, you’ve pulled out your iPhone, and your thumbs are furiously pecking away at the oversensitive touch screen. You may use a reference App—even though you’re standing in a library. Perhaps you choose to pull up the Bible—even though you’re in a church. Physical details don’t interfere with the mysterious bond between an iPhone screen and its user’s eyes.
The iPhone has elevated multitasking to new extremes. Now, when I have to download a large file from the Internet, I pull up another web site on my iPhone to pass the time. I sometimes research movie facts on IMDB while I’m still watching the movie. Thanks to unlimited text messages, I find myself locked into strings of badly spelled short sentences with my friends instead of just calling them and having real conversations. Patience may be a virtue, but it’s unnecessary with an iPhone. As long as I have a decent cell or WiFi connection, I can check trivia, e-mail, Facebook statuses, and almost anything else as soon as I want. At least we still have doctor offices to remind us how to wait forever.
I vaguely remember life before my iPhone. There were tall things called trees. We cut them down to make heavy things called books. Conversations involved calling and speaking to people, and my brain cells responsible for spelling words still functioned correctly. Video games involved pushing buttons that worked instead of tapping on a screen that doesn’t necessarily function correctly.
Of course, I don’t need to toss my iPhone into a garbage can to regain my former composure. I could just turn it off in theaters. I could force myself to call people instead of relying on the full keyboard for text messages. I could choose to get up and walk away from my computer while downloading big files instead of checking my Facebook notifications for the hundredth time that day. I could do a lot of things; but with so much information available at my fingertips, why bother? Perhaps one day soon, we’ll all be in tech rehab together.
©2009 Timothy Samaha. First published in PoV Magazine.
