October is "My Phone is Just a Phone" Month

Imagine for a moment that you woke up today to discover that all of the smart phones on the planet had suddenly and permanently stopped working. We still had (ordinary, not-smart) phones and computers and televisions and portable music devices and portable gaming devices and calculators and flashlights and wallets and maps and books and newspapers...just no more all-in-one smart phones.

Now ask yourself what would be wrong with that.

(I'll give you a moment for quiet contemplation - "the Girl from Ipanema" playing in the background while you think...)

Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking
And when she passes, each one she passes goes - ah
When she walks, she's like a samba that swings so cool and sways so gentle
That when she passes, each one she passes goes - ooh
(Ooh) But I watch her so sadly, how can I tell her I love her
Yes I would give my heart gladly,
But each day, when she walks to the sea
She looks straight ahead, not at me
Tall, and tan, and young, and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking
And when she passes, I smile - but she doesn't see (doesn't see)
(She just doesn't see, she never sees me...) 

OK. What did you come up with? Me...I'm having trouble seeing how my world would be worse without smart phones. A little less convenient, yes. But worse?

Now, how would my world be better?

• Drivers would once again be focused on driving their cars, and they'd be fully attuned to their surroundings.
• Pedestrians would once again walk down the street with their eyes looking forward.
• Restaurants would once again be the scene of many happy people enjoying each other's company, talking, laughing, and looking at each other.
• People wouldn't be equipped to play photo journalist, expert commentator, or celebrity unless they'd earned the right to do so.

And how would I be better?

• When out for a walk, or at a movie, or relaxing in front of the TV, my phone might not be in my hand quietly whispering "play with me".
• When my young daughter asks me a question, like "why is grass green?" I would be forced to be a Dad and a human being - giving her an answer based on what I know or don't know - rather than being a clerk who is really good at looking things up.
• When a precious moment happens, I might commit it to memory instead of digitizing it and instantly sending it out for public consumption.

On our recent trip to Mexico, we all left our phones at home (metaphorically, not actually). My wife carried a camera. That was it. And I can't remember a moment where I regretted it. Even sitting on a 2.5 hour bus ride to Chichen Itza with "nothing to do", we instead sang songs (quietly), drew pictures, read books and played games like "20 Questions" (well, those of us who didn't sleep for 2.5 hours did those things).

Again, I'm only talking about smart phones. Lose them and the world becomes a better place again. They're not guns (or they're not guns yet). They're just devices that we adopted for convenience and coolness, which are having serious consequences - car accidents, tuned-out kids, ruined lives - because we're not using them responsibly, and can't use them responsibly. Too seductive. Too powerful. Too ubiquitous.

I got my phone as a work device, for phone calls and e-mail when I'm working, but not in the office. I'm going to use it for just that for all of October and see what happens.

Donnie Booth's Tooth

The following is inspired - obviously - by "There Was an Old Lady who Swallowed a Fly" and - less obviously - by a good friend of mine who snapped a toothpick when trying to free some wedged-in dental floss from his teeth.

I dedicate it to everyone who has ever experienced that sinking feeling when you hear your dental floss rip.

Donnie Booth's Tooth

A boy of eleven called Donnie Booth,
Had a kernel of corn lodged in his tooth.

He went to the pantry for floss just then,
To loosen the corn and take it out again.

But the space was tight and the floss was wide, 
And a piece ripped off and stayed inside.

With a toothpick, next, pushed there and here,
He tried to force the floss strand clear.

(The floss that stuck beneath the corn
Causing Donnie grief that early morn.)

But the toothpick snapped and half got lost,
Behind the kernel and the piece of floss.

Out came some tweezers with which Donnie meant,
To grab the wood all splintered and bent.

(From the half a toothpick with which he'd tried
To free the floss from his mouth's inside;

The floss that stuck beneath the corn
Making Donnie's mood somewhat forlorn.)

But the tweezers slipped off Donnie's thumb,
And one tweeze got wedged between tooth and gum.

So next young Don tried pliers to tease,
The tweezers from out his gums with ease.

(They'd gotten there when Donnie meant,
To grab the wood all splintered and bent;

From the half a toothpick with which he'd tried,
To free the floss from his mouth's inside;

The floss that stuck beneath the corn,
Making Donnie wish he'd not been born.)

But just as the pliers got fastened on,
Their handle cracked on poor, young Don.

"I'll saw them off" thought Don with care,
About the broken pliers now hanging there.

(The ones he'd used to try to tease,
The tweezers from out his gums with ease;

That had gotten there when Donnie meant
To grab the wood all splintered and bent;

From the half a toothpick with which he'd tried
To free the floss from his mouth's inside;

The floss that stuck beneath the corn,
Now long forgotten that fateful morn.)

But as Donnie tried to aim the saw,
He trapped its handle against his jaw.

At last Don knew he needed aid,
And called his Dad to free the blade

(The blade of the saw trapped near his face,
When cutting the pliers from their place;

The pliers he'd used to try to tease,
The tweezers from out his gums with ease;

That had gotten there when Donnie meant,
To grab the wood all splintered and bent;

From the half a toothpick with which he'd tried,
To free the floss from his mouth's inside;

The floss that stuck beneath the corn,
Since hours before, that early morn.)

AND his Dad succeeded in freeing the saw!
AND when out it came, so came it all!
The pliers and tweezers and pick and floss,
Without another moment's loss.
AND finally the corn, there from the first,
POPPED OUT on its own with a tiny burst.

So young Don Booth, now free for lunch,
Took another cob and began to munch...

(Knowing his Dad was there, if he needed him,
To pull out a saw should things turn grim;

If the saw got wedged in any way,
When trying to cut some pliers away;

If those pliers snapped when trying to tease,
Some tweezers out from whence they'd squeezed;

If the tweezers were jammed into a space,
When aimed at wood stuck deep in place;

If wood had splintered off a pick,
When digging at floss, shredded thick;

If the floss had ripped,
when sliding free,

A new piece
of corn...

...or 2or 3).

Making Amends

For some of us, it's that time of year where we make a point of reflecting on the good and bad we've done during the year and - where necessary - apologize for the bad. Here I go:

To the British Guy in Mexico

Sorry to the British guy sitting in front of me on our tour bus in Mexico. It might have appeared to you that the 30-minute long, unsuccessfully muted hysterics coming from my middle child and me that started at the same time as the obviously painful collision between your head and the luggage rack (and your subsequent very proper upper-crust British-accented muttering to your wife about the resulting pain) were related. Not so. We were laughing at something else entirely. But I am sorry if you thought otherwise.

To Sports Fans Who Read My Blog

When I wrote optimistic pre-season reports on the Raptors and Jays, I may have inadvertently caused some of you to share in my annual rite of self-delusion. I'm sorry for that. To make amends, I won't give you a heads up re: what could be a championship season for the Leafs. (Nay, likely will be a championship season for the Leafs. In the bag.)

To My Wife

Sorry about the spiders. Sorry that I continue to fail to buy you gifts that you like on the first try. Sorry that I write things that directly or indirectly refer to you in my Facebook and Blog posts and then don't have the courage to tell you to read them. Sorry that I'm not serious about apologizing for any of these things (including this last one).

To My Two Older Daughters

When you were little, cameras weren't as ubiquitous as they are today. There wasn't Facebook. I didn't Blog. So it may seem like I make a much bigger deal out of your little sister's childhood years than I did with yours. I'm sorry I didn't chronicle every detail of your early years. You two were also cute and clever and many of your amazing moments have been lost in the annals of time. If it's any consolation, your little sister didn't get to live through the Spice Girls years.

To My Youngest Daughter

I'm sorry that I make your older sisters so jealous and that they take it out on you. I think I may have fixed it above. If it doesn't help, let me know if they try anything. I've got your back. You know how much daddy loves you.

To Cats

You know who you are. I'm sorry you suck.

To the Readers of this Post

I'm sorry that this post isn't very good and I wasted your time just now. I just wrote it because I wanted an excuse to tell you about the British Guy banging his head. Man that was funny. I haven't laughed like that in months.

The funny thing is that it's usually my lovely wife who loses it when she sees someone hurt himself or herself. She's done it to me - laughing uncontrollably when instead she should be taking steps to save my life. And I've called her on it many times, scolding her self-righteously when she laughs - for example - at her daughters stubbing their toes, flipping over their feet, or whacking their elbows on the furniture.

So when British Guy had his encounter with the luggage rack and I lost it, I felt like Mary Tyler Moore at the Chuckles the Clown funeral.

Anyways, I apologize.