MANKATO — They’re called smartphones — making one word out of two shows how smart they are, I guess — and they can make a person feel dumb in a heartbyte.
That’s dumb in a tech-savvy sense, and also dumb in the sense that maybe you weren’t so smart for getting one in the first place.
Jury’s still out on the latter. In the meantime, I’m touch-screening and app-finding my way through the labyrinthine amenities of this little knickknack.
It has usurped the hunk of metal I’d been carrying around since Clinton disavowed Lewinsky.
I’m one of those rare people who use a cell phone as ... just a phone. And only when I have to. Six seconds. That’s how long I give to an average non-work-related phone conversation.
Yet I’ve become a smartphone owner because my wife wanted to replace her own phone, because the smartphone we selected was a two-for-one deal, and because I thought it might be amusing to surf for Asian porn, order a pizza, watch video of water-skiing squirrels and play moronic games with a device I can tote in my shirt pocket.
We’ve come a long way, baby. Or not.
Don’t get me wrong. Being miniature computers, these things can perform impressive feats. It’s oh so exhilarating to launch voice-activated Google searches from the wireless comfort of your fist.
It’s just that too much of anything — fudge, Haiti, Reba McEntire — isn’t good for you.
Ditto for technology for technology’s sake. Did you know you can order a phone app that makes your device sound like a can of marbles when you shake it?
Smartphones are good at many things, including — and often limited to — dumbing you down and dithering away your time.
Ten pounds of digital diversions crammed into addictive 4-ounce shims. Cellular crack, that’s what they are.
And here’s what cracks me up: These sophisticated, myriad-function Swiss army knives for ear and eye didn’t even come with instruction manuals.
Are you kidding me? Toasters come with instruction manuals.
I went to the company’s Web site, where I discovered I could download and print my smartphone user manual — all 258 pages of it.
Two-hundred-fifty-eight pages.
Putting that in perspective, the instruction manual for open-heart surgery comes in at 179.
Brian Ojanpa is a Free Press staff writer. Call him at 344-6316 or e-mail bojanpa@mankatofreepress.com.
Brian Ojanpa
Phones that aren’t really so smart
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