“What’s your pin?”
This phrase has become a common one shared amongst friends while reconnecting on a night out. I didn’t really understand this when I first got my crackberry, and I thought someone was asking me about the safety pin I was using to “discreetly” pin up one of my broken shirt straps.
“Uh…” was my response.
Was he referring to a type of pin brand? A pin of silver or gold? A designer pin?
“No! Your BLACKBERRY pin!” said person, with a nonplussed roll of the eyes.
Oops. My bad.
My friend and I commented on this recurring exchange during our drinks and appetizer binge this evening. Crackberries have taken over the world. If you do not believe this, you are probably one of the worst offenders. Your bad.
Maureen Dowd, one of my favorite columnists and super-NYTimes fem-bitch, wrote about the Blackberry-nation in her latest column.
She said:
Ominously, research by the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration — suppressed for years and released on Tuesday after petitions were filed by advocacy groups — shows that there are “negligible differences” in accident risk whether you’re holding the phone or not. Hands-free devices may even enhance the danger by lulling you into complacency.
It is the conversation that pulls focus. My greatest fear is that I’m going to be in a taxi when the driver gets a call from his wife to tell him that she’s run off with his sexy cousin.
Completely random sidenote: I, too, often fear the unpredictability of taxi drivers. For instance, who ever knows what they are mumbling about on those quasi-invisible phones? Recently, I tried to catch a glimpse of a driver’s Bluetooth, and I didn’t see anything! He appeared to be speaking to himself. Perhaps this is what gets them through the day, along with acting completely put out when one (me) tries to pay with a credit card. I mean, I usually tip in cash.
Anyway.
I am severely obsessed with my Blackberry. This can not be a good sign, as I am a. unemployed and b. really, really not important. In fact, the only people bbm-ing and/or texting me are usually asking what time I’ll be home or what my evening plans are. (College).
Chalk it up to great branding or just our generation, but everyone seems obsessed with new media, including me.
Queen Maureen writes:
Hollywood offered a cautionary story with the depressing “Seven Pounds,” which begins with Will Smith spoiling his perfect life when he BlackBerrys while driving in his fancy car with his gorgeous new fiancée. He crashes into another car, killing six strangers and his girlfriend. The movie ends with a poisonous jellyfish in an icy bathtub. Don’t ask.
Left, literally, to our own devices, we spiral out of control. States should outlaw drivers from talking on phones — except in an emergency — and using digital devices that cause you to drift and swerve; or at least mandate a $10,000 fine for getting in an accident while phoning or Twittering.
I mean, everyone should know that I am “meeting my girls for drinks! xo” while I’m driving to my next location. Shouldn’t they?
That’s what tweets are for, I guess. Unless you buy the story that doctors from around the world tweet while in surgery, transmitting life-saving tips in live form.
If I were undergoing surgery, I’d rather my doctor did not stop to “tweet at me.”
Here is the Seven Pounds trailer, in case you missed the reference.
It’s kind of weird being connected to people all the time. One of my biggest pet peeves is the fact that you can see when a contact reads your bbm. It has really taken friendship to a whole new level.
Until we all have the courage to rough it, however, we will be ruled by the blinking red light. If you don’t know what that is, it’s probably because you are too quick with your berry to notice it.
