When I called my mother to tell her I was putting away my iPhone for a week and she wouldn’t be able to call me, she asked why. Sometimes the woman who gave me half my genes says things that sound like they were borne from some bizarre, inaccessible plane of reality, and sometimes she says things that are so spot-on, I start to suspect she’s taken up residence in my brain. When I told her I felt I needed to separate myself from this little glowing, vibrating device, her response fell under the latter category.
“We’re so attached to these things, and it’s scary,” she said. “But it makes total sense — it’s an object that’s full of the sounds, images, and words of all the people you love.”
Quite a nice idea, until you realize that the object in question is ultimately no more than a profit-driver for…
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