I was born in the mid 80's, which is, arguably, a generation that grew at the pace of the rising technology upon which we all rely today. Cell phones were just becoming popular when I was in elementary school. My junior high was just beginning to mandate computer typing classes for the first time.
My first cell phone was a present from my dad. A klunky prepaid little egg-shaped diety with customizable snap-on cases. It had a green-and-gray screen and exactly one game: snake. Those of you who remember this game know what I'm talking about. There was a little dot on the screen, and a straight line. The line was the "snake," and each time it "ate" the dot, it grew a little bit bigger. The goal was to get the snake as big as possible without letting its head crash into its body. It was a wild and riveting time, and I spent hours mastering and perfecting its subtle and very refined art.
This was also, coincidentally, the first time my family got a computer: a 500 MB Hewlett Packard that weighed five hundred and three pounds (I'm guessing). It took approximately four hours to log onto AOL. I spent many hours deep into the night typing furious nonsense into the Final Fantasy and other RPG chatrooms. On this machine I also typed my very first "novel." Back before I was familiar with the concept of spacing after punctuation.
Today, I have a 138 GB mac. AOL has become but a dark and bitter memory. My phone is in color. It streams videos that hurt my eyes to watch. It plays songs when people call me. There are pictures. It does math. It has a calendar. It has a notepad. It has some space invader game that makes the wii look like a little sissy girly doll (no disrespect to the wii, my fellow gamers out there).
But for all this technology, I look at this shiny metallic pink phone, with heat-activated buttons that light up, with the loop-playing wallpaper of my little cousin twirling in her twirly dress, and there is no snake.
Sometimes I get these nostalgic pains. Not for my favorite teddy bear, who sits covered in dust in the basement with his pink hair barette. Not for the money my grandma used to slip into my pocket when I made a great report card. And certainly not for the 56k modem I was once so very proud of, before which many hours of my young life were lost to the ether of modem hisses and keys pounding frantically into the night.
No, my friends. I miss the hours I spent with my klunky egg-shaped phone, chasing a little dot with a little line.
My first cell phone was a present from my dad. A klunky prepaid little egg-shaped diety with customizable snap-on cases. It had a green-and-gray screen and exactly one game: snake. Those of you who remember this game know what I'm talking about. There was a little dot on the screen, and a straight line. The line was the "snake," and each time it "ate" the dot, it grew a little bit bigger. The goal was to get the snake as big as possible without letting its head crash into its body. It was a wild and riveting time, and I spent hours mastering and perfecting its subtle and very refined art.
This was also, coincidentally, the first time my family got a computer: a 500 MB Hewlett Packard that weighed five hundred and three pounds (I'm guessing). It took approximately four hours to log onto AOL. I spent many hours deep into the night typing furious nonsense into the Final Fantasy and other RPG chatrooms. On this machine I also typed my very first "novel." Back before I was familiar with the concept of spacing after punctuation.
Today, I have a 138 GB mac. AOL has become but a dark and bitter memory. My phone is in color. It streams videos that hurt my eyes to watch. It plays songs when people call me. There are pictures. It does math. It has a calendar. It has a notepad. It has some space invader game that makes the wii look like a little sissy girly doll (no disrespect to the wii, my fellow gamers out there).
But for all this technology, I look at this shiny metallic pink phone, with heat-activated buttons that light up, with the loop-playing wallpaper of my little cousin twirling in her twirly dress, and there is no snake.
Sometimes I get these nostalgic pains. Not for my favorite teddy bear, who sits covered in dust in the basement with his pink hair barette. Not for the money my grandma used to slip into my pocket when I made a great report card. And certainly not for the 56k modem I was once so very proud of, before which many hours of my young life were lost to the ether of modem hisses and keys pounding frantically into the night.
No, my friends. I miss the hours I spent with my klunky egg-shaped phone, chasing a little dot with a little line.
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