”..before I go, I just want to tell you, you were fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. And you know what? So was I” -
365 Project Year 4 - 80.jpg on Flickr.
Day 80 - Saturday, April 12th. Walking around Downtown Phoenix.
I’m going to start applying this to everyday life.
#tempe #arizona #asu
Do you remember me? Do you remember the way you used to hold me? The way you used to make me feel needed? The way you used to pay $49.99 a month to whisper sweet nothings into my ear for 600 minutes plus 50 whenever minutes? Do you remember me, your Nokia 3310?
Incase you can’t recall, it was a time before texts. It was a time before cameras, video, and a time before color screens. A black and white world. Simple. You eat a tiny square and the snake grows one tiny square longer. No Temple Run. No Angry Birds. No 4 inch screens to play it all on. It was as cut and dry as an 8-bit ringtone. You needed me and I needed you.
I still remember how it happened, too. Don’t you? In the beginning the communication was great. We both wanted it. And that’s how it works. It’s mutual. But then little by little you grew distant. The broken phone calls. The “I-can’t-hear-yous”. The “we’re-breaking-ups,” as if the miscommunication was my fault. Sure, you caught me roaming that one summer we left the service area, but in hind-sight it’s so easy to see it was just the provider (ha! Isn’t that always how it goes?).
But soon enough the broken calls became less and less. You wanted something that “worked”. And just like that you cast me aside. Me. Your go-to-gal. Your best friend. Your Nokia 3310! You cast me aside and you made me feel unwanted—helpless and out of service. Until one day you came home with someone else. Something else. The Motorola Razr.
Sure, you felt that initial guilt. The detachment and fear of something new. After all, you were so used to my push keyboard and bulky frame. I mean, why would you want something else? But you did. She was thin and I was not. She was sleek. A new slender design. And of course, she could flip. And you liked that, no matter what you said. You knew you liked it. I knew you liked it. And it didn’t make anything any easier.
Jokes on her though, right? Because how long did that one last? Twelve? Eighteen months? And what did you say it was? More miscommunication? Not enough space? Or was it just a taste for something new? Pretty soon you cast aside Ol’ Razr to satiate your hunger with something sweeter. The LG Chocolate KG800. Although, that didn’t last too long either. Remind me. What came next? Was it the BlackBerry? Or was it the BlackBerry Storm? The Bold? The Curve 8900? And at what point did you finally realize a new adjective wouldn’t fix that dying relationship?
And now for the new girl. I said I wouldn’t, but I can’t resist. The way you flaunt her around. Show her off. Touch her. Grope her. Finger her screen. What’s her name? Sophie? Jaclyn? iPhone 5s? And I think we all know what the “s” stands for. You can’t even go to the bathroom without her! You two are inseparable! And it makes me sick. You make me sick. Because you know what? It’s only a matter of time and we both know it. It’s not the miscommunication. It’s not the storage space, the service provider or whatever else you’ve blamed it on. No, it’s you. It’s you and your undying need to feed from the hand of consumerist America. And for that I pity you.
So here I sit. Covered in dust. Biding my time between a sack of soggy Pogs and a lost container of Crazy Bones. Idle. Silently waiting for the call of opportunity. And when opportunity finally rings, who will pick up? Will it be the sleek design of the Motorola Razr? How about the sweet new Chocolate? One of the many forgotten BlackBerrys? The iPhone with her brittle glass exterior? Or will it be the one who was built to last? The one who once reigned as queen of the cell phones. The one you left for dead. Me. Your Nokia 3310.
O come and mourn with me awhile,
See Mary calls us to her side,
O come and let us mourn with her,
Jesus, our Love, is crucified.
- A Catholic hymn
"When I was about 20 years old, I met an old pastor’s wife who told me that when she was young and had her first child, she didn’t believe in striking children, although spanking kids with a switch pulled from a tree was standard punishment at the time. But one day, when her son was four or five, he did something that she felt warranted a spanking–the first in his life. She told him that he would have to go outside himself and find a switch for her to hit him with.
The boy was gone a long time. And when he came back in, he was crying. He said to her, “Mama, I couldn’t find a switch, but here’s a rock that you can throw at me.”
All of a sudden the mother understood how the situation felt from the child’s point of view: that if my mother wants to hurt me, then it makes no difference what she does it with; she might as well do it with a stone.
And the mother took the boy into her lap and they both cried. Then she laid the rock on a shelf in the kitchen to remind herself forever: never violence. And that is something I think everyone should keep in mind. Because if violence begins in the nursery one can raise children into violence.”