That’s right. Because when you are a total klutz who happens to annihilate any and every electromagnetic field you come into contact with in this day and age, life becomes difficult. I won’t go into my trials and tribulations with the DROID because frankly, if you know me at all, you know that me and cell phones are like oil and fire. And while my father did give me his old iPad a while back, I seldom use it because I 1) like having a keyboard, 2) struggle with wifi, and 3) have dark allegiances to my Kindle.
No, my most recent misadventure is with my elderly iPod, the square gem that I used to wear on my wrist (before that was even a thing, thank you very much), which I managed to shatter a few months ago. Since that mishap, I have tried getting the glass replaced, which Apple wanted to charge me $100 bucks for (ehrm, no), and then tried to put one of those plastic protector sheets on, which doesn’t work at all. So I was limping along until recently, when the square of power decided that it would no longer read my swipes.
Hence, my hatred of touchscreens.
I am not that backwater. I know that touchscreens are “the future” if it isn’t here already. I saw Minority Report. And we all know the end to that tragic story now don’t we? You know what I am talking about, Mr. Cruise. Don’t lie. But what I wouldn’t do for a physical button on the damned machine that is supposed to make my life easier, a way to scroll between terrible drag queen music and my obsession with the Welcome to Night Vale podcast. But no. Today, the iPod and I came to a crossroads.
Just like that Bone Thugs song, without the rapping. Or the background music.
I tried, and tried, and tried again to make the damned thing work. I had my coworker (who has much daintier fingers) try to change the menu from radio to music, or to at least to select a song. No dice. So now, I have two iPods that don’t really function and no desire to fork over a Benji to get one that works, let alone buy an older model (again, to move away from the blasphemous touchscreen of doom) that would make my life easier. At this point, it’s either biting the bullet and buying another one or digging out my old Discman.
Yes, things could be worse, and there’s always NPR, but I am slowly coming to the end of my digital rope. Unless these new-fangled technology gadgets move back a bit, I’m going to end up with an actual dial on my radio, an AM/FM cassette player and a telephone that permanently plugs into a wall. The tragedy of progress. Until next time, stay classy (and live for nostalgia) Salt Lake.