Okay, perhaps that headline is a bit overblown.
I’ve never owned a smartphone. In fact, I’ve owned dumb phones. Very dumb phones. Like, “Hay, muh name is Cletus. The internets? Ain’t that the little stretchy net on th’ ping-pong table?” dumb.
So my switch to the iPhone was probably more filled with magic and unicorns than the average person’s. I mused about what life with an iPhone would mean a while back, and I now know that I nailed it. I didn’t need an iPhone. That is to say, prior to walking out of the store with my crisp hott iPhone bag I didn’t need an iPhone. Now? Good grief, what kind of dirty Moorlock life did I used to lead? No mobile email? No video? No little pulsing blue dot on a map showing me exactly where I was, with disturbing precision? Inexcusable. Man was not meant to live without such necessities.
This is all to say that I love my iPhone, Steve Jobs is a shrewd, shrewd salesman and if I ever have to go back to a DumbPhone I will probably chastise it constantly, forget to pick it up from soccer practice and why can’t you be more like Lloyd Braun, you bad lazy phone.