{{{{hug}}}}
I recently (and quite spontaneously) ... (and not so begrudgingly) ... exchanged my 1990's Motorola look-alike for an up-to-date, fancy schmancy, internet-savy i-phone 4, after a week away in the wild, wild west (aka Colorado) during which I was entirely dependent on my co-traveler's Verizon droid. [Smart-Phones-Where-Have-You-Been-All-My-Life?] In spite of a year's worth of blog trash talk about how technology is ruining intimacy and contemplative opportunity, I marched proudly into the AT&T store within 24-hours of returning to Kings County soil - without hesitation or peer consultation - and requested an upgrade (please) as the euphoria of the long-overdue technological enhancement took over. As a new, proud, smart(er) phone-owner, who (in an instant) joined the ranks of email-checking, app-uploading, relationship-destroying, texting connoisseurs, I respond to this New York Times post with embrace for all that requires voiceless and soundless communication and wonder aloud which readers are ready for a scrabble dual. (Text me; game on.) Enjoy!
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This article is so interesting. Seriously, gone are the days when, as a teenager, I would RACE to the phone to see who was calling. Today, I feel utterly bothered when my phone rings. I don't get excited - I just groan and think "Ugh, who needs something from me now..." (How awful is that?!) Carly, I can't thank you enough for never calling me. You're the best.
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