It’s a Blackberry, of all things. (Now I feel like a lawyer.) It’s sleek and stylish and satisfyingly heavy, and now I can do things like check my email compulsively (oh great) and, I suppose, download apps and so forth, if I ever learn how to do that, which I don’t think I will, because you know, life is too short to spend staring at a tiny little screen.
But I must confess: I love it. It’s heavy and solid in my hand and mighty pretty. So there you go… I've resisted this whole tech thing as much as I can—I mean, I have a computer, but I don’t fetishize it—but now the game’s up. I’ve caved. I changed the wallpaper on my phone last night so now it’s even cooler. Pretty soon I'll personalize my ringtone. Then... Game over.
The other thing I got myself for Christmas, which I’m not even a little ashamed of, is the Rolls-Royce of mp3 players, the uber-iPod, the Cowan J3, 32 gigs, etc. It’s great. I’ll be able to store all the CDs I listen to for PopMatters without having to, like, delete stuff every time I want to add stuff. The sound is terrific and the covers look mighty pretty, and it’s got this whole touchscreen thing so you can just scroll through the album covers and pick which one you want to hear by tapping it. NO READING REQUIRED. A moderately intelligent bunny rabbit could use this thing. Have I mentioned that I love it? I actually look forward to loading the dishwasher and brushing my teeth every night, because that’s when I get to listen to it. That’s how much I love it. Should I be worried? Short answer: yes.