I love living in the future.
I also deeply question the collective cultural and marketing decision to call the object in my hands a “phone.” I mean, seriously, people. This bears almost no resemblance, other than an atavistic legacy function, to a telephonic communications device. What I am holding is a, a Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy crossed with a tricorder crossed with machine telepathy. This is not a phone.
Now, I wax rhapsodic because I care. I love mobile technology. I love the communications possibilities of smartphones. I have friends all over the world and devices like this “phone” enable me to stay in touch.
“Phone.” Soon this word will have meaning equivalent to “c.c.” Carbon copy.
Anyway. I got a Palm Pixi. I’ll let you know how it goes.
(Blogged from the YMCA, the dining room table, the hallway, and the kitchen.)