Dana Albarella James of The Awl doesn't own a mobile phone. I know! I, too, raised an eyebrow questioning her sanity. How does she live? Does she have no friends? If I step out of the house without my iPhone I feel naked and useless, unable to check emails, surf the net and text -- never mind knowing the time.
And yet, as you read her article filled with a subtle but delicious saccharine bitterness smeared over every sentence, you will realize that if anyone here is insane, it's us with our little brain-cancer inducing iGizmos.
I don't own a cell phone. I never have. When people learn this fact they usually react with an exclamation of shocked disbelief, as if I lead some sort of unfathomable existence of unmitigated depravation. As if the human race didn't manage to somehow get along just fine until about 1995, when suddenly everyone -- not just the doctors and drug dealers -- seemed to get a cellular. But those of us old enough to remember the Time Before Cell Phones can attest to the fact that the early adopters of this technology were mostly assholes. As a single girl in New York throughout the 1990s I can tell you that, back then, the guy in the bar with the celly was the biggest douche in the room, and he was definitely overcompensating for something. A potential hook-up who flashed a cell phone? Total dealbreaker, a complete non-negotiable. My girlfriends and I laughed at those self-important clowns.
Dana is my hero, by the way. Her end-of-article bio simply states Don't get her started on emoticons. Please do, Dana. Please do.
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