CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?
We've Become A Nation Of
Techie-Obsessed Junkies
By Ginger Fulkerson-Harris
 
It was a warm day in May when my art teacher pulled down a white screen over the chalkboard, aimed the projector at the screen and flipped off the light switch. The machine stumbled a bit until the sound finally caught up with the picture, but before we knew it, our fourth-grade minds, absorbent like sponges, were taking in a '70s time-warp filmstrip about the wonders of the future. Our imaginations soared as we learned that in our lifetime the future would deliver goods beyond our wildest dreams. Cars would fly, closets would replace washers and dryers by shaking the dirt out of our clothes with the push of a button, and doctors would diagnose and X-ray patients all through the magic of telephones with built-in scanning devices. It's been decades since I stared wide-eyed at that filmstrip, and sadly, I'm still waiting for my car to prepare for takeoff, but I think that '70s film de jour hit the nail on the head when it talked about the magic of telephone technology. Too bad the film's producers couldn't predict how dependent we'd become on this machinery.

My latest encounter with state-of-the-art phone-ology came just the other day when I was calling out cookie options to my husband while he pushed the shopping cart behind me at the local grocery store.

"Grasshoppers? Double Stuff Peanut Butter Crème Oreos? Mallomars?"

No response.

When I turned around to see why none of these tasty morsels evoked a reaction, I noticed my better half was a bit, shall we say, preoccupied. Shuffling down the aisle, he was pushing the cart with his torso as both his hands were feverishly typing away on his Sidekick. His eyes, glued to the tiny color screen, couldn't be peeled away from the T-Mobile device to look at something as archaic as cookies. But it didn't stop there. As my eyes wandered up his frame, I noticed his head severely tilted to one side, practically glued to his shoulder, holding his trusty phone in place. With three of his five senses honed in on his communication gadgets, it dawned on me: Here's a person who is way too connected. This was multitasking at its most advanced stage, techie-tasking, if you will.

You see, my husband's addiction, like countless other techies, began with a "minutes without limits" cell phone plan. But somehow being able to call anyone in the continental United States and talk to him or her for literally hours on end wasn't enough. Things like call waiting, caller ID and voice mail found their way into the mix. To further feed his insatiable hunger for constant accessibility, he purchased a Sidekick. Now with both devices at his disposal, he has become Master of the Technology Universe, able to call, instant message, e-mail, search the Web and snap impromptu pictures with a single click. Obsessed with accessibility? You bet 'cha.

Man's obsession with mobile phone gadgetry first dawned in 1982. By 1987, connected-earth.com states more than 1 million people were chatting away on their mobile devices. Fifteen years later, 40 million cell phones were in use - that's 40 million people who can't remember their lives before cell phones. Connected-earth.com also says by 2008 everyone over the age of 12 is expected to have a cell phone by their side. That's more than 60 million people - again, who won't be able to remember their lives before cell phones. With well over half of U.S. households equipped with personal computers, it's fathomable why companies like T-Mobile have more than 500,000 Blackberry subscribers and 18.3 million overall users. Regarding these phenomenal statistics, T-Mobile spokesperson Peter Dobrow says, "Consumers are always looking for new and innovative ways to communicate." In short, we've become a nation of techie-obsessed, accessibility craving connectionites.

So when is enough, enough?

On a recent trip to the movie theatre I noticed an advertisement on the screen pleading with viewers to turn off their cell phones - not once but four times. "Please turn off your cell phones, please turn off your cell phones . . ." the computer-generated female voice iterated and reiterated. Toss in the signs outside the theatre that warrant "no cell phone zone" into the mix, and it's obvious many of us can't disconnect on our own. We need to be reminded to unplug, to let go, to disengage. But there's always that one person, the one who can't let go. The one whose phone rings just as the movie is getting good. So why can't that soul separate himself from the outside world for two hours? Who knows, maybe his wife is trying to find out which cookies he wants from the store.