With Spike Jonze’s newest movie “Her” garnering a lot of attention these days for being a story of a lonely man falling in love with his Siri-like operating system, I thought about it and realized: Wait, this is nothing new. I’ve been in a relationship with my iPhone for years—and way before it even started talking back to me.
People often give me grief for being so attached to my phone, but like any long-term, committed relationship, it takes work to stay connected. I’ve thought about taking a break from her, but I love her. I don’t want us to ever be apart.
And it makes sense. She’s my ideal girl. She’s colorful. She’s bright. She’s extremely knowledgeable (I mean, I always want her on my bar trivia team). She’s fun to hang out with when I’m bored (she loves Words With Friends or will always watch a dirty movie when the mood strikes). She also keeps getting slimmer, responds well to touch, and most importantly, she was made in China—yet designed in California. Plus, every two years, I trade her in for a newer model.
Obviously I love her, but like any significant other, there will tend to be some things you eventually find slightly annoying. Similar to most of the girls I’ve dated, when we’re out late, she just can’t hang in there for the long haul and shuts down before the night’s over. She’s just like her father, Steve—dies way too early. At least I know if I wake up next to her very hung over after a blackout and she’s all beat up that maybe I should re-evaluate my drinking habits. She helps in that department.
So, a little nagging is fine, but does she really need to be sending me so many reminders about insignificant shit all the time? It’s already one thing that she forces me to wake up every morning. Granted, I need that, but sometimes I just want to sleep. Also, I could do without the constant correcting of my grammar and instant-censorship. One time I tried to say, “Fuck you, asshole” to someone, and she totally cut me off and what the guy heard was, “Duck you a shoe.” I wanted to hurt the guy’s feelings, not confuse the shit out of him.
And, listen, does she really need to acquire so much random shit just because it’s free or from the 99¢ store? I mean, it’s not like we have an endless amount of space. Plus, why would I need 50 ways to monitor the amount of miles I run when I haven’t run in seven months?
Then there’s the constant forcing of me to make fake friends (through Facebook). All this means is people I never wanted to talk to in the first place incessantly bother me. Great.
Now, she is a great photographer. I’ll give her that. But do we need 100 shots of that cute dog from every angle? We get it, a few people follow you on Instagram. Big whoop. But you’re no Annie Leibovitz, so give it a rest, will ya?
And, fine, I’ll call my mother. I wish she would stop telling me this so much. Christ if she doesn’t sound exactly like her, too.
Oh, not to mention how fragile she is. Yeah, I like how smooth and slender she is, but what’s the point if you’re so easily breakable you have to wear more armor than a medieval knight? Not using a case on an iPhone is like not wearing a condom: it feels better, but you’re constantly living in fear.
But no matter what, I will always love her. Her positives outweigh her negatives. Sure, a few faults are just going to be engrained—like a poor sense of direction (always sending me to the wrong streets), and those lame, juvenile games she’s always wanting me to play—but that’s to be expected. She’s normal. A few things are just hardwired in there that you can’t change. You just hope they stay buried away for the most part.
All in all, she’s become an integral part of my life, and I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world. Well, except maybe for a pair of those sexy Google secretary glasses. You can’t predict the future.