Hanging on the telephone
I have always had old phones.
When we moved to Wisconsin in 1989, our 1950s ranch house had a strangely out-of-place crank phone with detachable earpiece mounted on the paneled basement wall. The kitchen walls matched the avocado-green rotary phone with the 20-foot cord. In the home where I lived during high school (and where my parents still live), I remember a friend punching through the holes in the dial, wondering why he didn’t hear the reassuring “beep” telling him that he’d successfully phoned home.
So when my dad bought an iPhone last fall, I knew I’d be kicking myself if I didn’t buy one as well. These days it’s cemented to my pocket, as I knew it would be; he’s still trying to remember to carry it.
We hear so much about new technologies, Web 2.0, Twittering, the death of the newspaper and all of that stuff. I’m not a gadgethead, but I do keep up with what’s going on around me. My mom, who has often professed her desire for a washboard and wringer instead of a modern laundry setup (what’s stopping you, there, hmmm?) can’t abide the discussion of anything modern, while my dad — who had e-mail in 1990 — just wants a phone that goes “brrrring”.
They have an app for that…