Comfortable Disorientation

How to buy technology

This is one of my occasional notes to self.

When buying technology - especially technology of the personal and portable kind - always, always let the heart rule the head.

This thought has been prompted by the rediscovery of my old friend the Nokia 8310 found languishing in a box full of wires* in a dark and dusty cupboard.

Gosh, I loved this phone.  I remember vividly the first time I saw one, sat outside a pub with my friends Gemma and Chris.  Chris, who always has the latest and greatest gadget, pulled his phone out of his pocket and Gemma and I exploded into a cacophony of cooing. Chris is quite a big bloke, and I have to say the 8310 seemed incongruous in his paws. In hindsight it really was a girl's phone.  But a beloved girl's phone at that.

I got my own as soon as I could, and kept it way longer than considered respectable by technology upgrade enthusiasts.  I eschewed camera phones for yonks because they were so damn ugly in comparison. I'd still use it now without a hint of embarrassment. In fact, I think I just might.

Every phone I've had since, including the one I have now, has been forgettable.  For all the functions and features, each has disappointed.  All were head choices, selected after a process of research and semi-rational comparison, all left me feeling flat and wistful.

Perhaps the iPhone will reignite phone delight?  The wonderful Stephen Fry's description is the most compelling piece of persuasion I've seen for it so far...

"Beauty. Charm. Delight. Excitement. Ooh. Aah. Wow! Let me at it."

* I can't describe the sense of dejection and depression a big box full of wires gives me. Wires and cables are one of the most miserable aspects of modern life. If I ruled the World wires, cables chargers and the like would come in a rainbow of colours, textures and patterns and be sold and exchanged in haberdasheries like ribbons.  I like ribbons a lot, they make me very happy.

Superstition and luck

On Wednesday The Times ran a Halloween-themed article about the superstitions and beliefs of the British public.  A survey had been conducted by Ben Schott and Ipsos Mori and for the most part the results were fairly predictable. A good proportion of us believe in all sorts of twaddle (like ghosts 38%, extra terrestrials 31% and guardian angels 38%), with women, tabloid readers and those of C2DE socio-economic grades more likely to believe in the paranormal than their male, broadsheet reading, professional counterparts. 

Apparantly, only 15% of us believe that the number 13 is unlucky.  I say apparantly because on the last two occasions I've flown, I've found myself sitting in row 13 having forgotten to check in early and having to make do with the seats not desired by my fellow passengers. Given that this was business class on BA, it's reasonable to assume that many of these row-13 avoiders were male professionals, though perhaps not British, admittedly.  This might be explained by the fact that quite a lot of us believe in fate (64%). While we know 13 is just a number and that considering it unlucky is silly (especially when we're responding to a questionnaire), willfully choosing to sit in seat 13 still feels like a wanton and unneccesary provocation of fate.  It doesn't really make sense, but then people often don't.

I was tickled by how many of us physically knock on wood (51%). This is something I do without thinking. What with the house move and the pregnancy I've been doing it all the time recently.  Of course, I don't really believe it has any luck-inducing benefits. It's just a thing I do when I find myself talking about desired future outcomes as if they're already in the bag. It's a way of acknowledging that I know I'm getting ahead of myself, counting chickens before they've hatched.  If I'm completely honest, a little bit of me believes that reaching to touch something wooden may help ward off any bad luck I might encouraged by being so presumptuous.