My sister, Crash, just got an iPhone. The one I coveted, then decided wasn’t good enough, then coveted again when Cap’n Firepants declared he was contemplating an upgrade of his own. iPhone upgrade, I mean. Though he probably secretly thinks about trading me in for a better model, too.
Crash has never had an iPhone, and she is approaching this brave new world with all of the zeal of a drunken gorilla. This is her trying to use FaceTime, iPhone’s video conferencing feature.
So far, we haven’t FaceTimed each other yet. Partly because I’m scared of her picture. And partly because I enjoy trying to interpret her texts so much.
It’s not like she’s never texted before. She has owned a cell phone. But it apparently did not have autocorrect. Either that or she has recently started smoking weed because I suddenly can’t understand
twenty-five fifty-three percent of what she’s saying.
It reminds me of when she would call my dorm room in college and my roommate would pick up. Roommate would say, “Hello!” then listen for a few moments and hand it to me.
“I think it’s your sister,” Roommate would say, hesitantly. The implication being that she wasn’t absolutely sure it was not the crank caller who graced us weekly with pornographic rants, but was willing to hazard this guess because of the higher pitch of the voice and the lack of heavy breathing.
We had moved to Louisiana when my sister was about ten, and she had thrown herself into the culture wholeheartedly, somehow adopting an accent that was a combination of Cajun, Hillbilly, Southern Belle, and the Bronx.
Crash’s iPhone autocorrect appears to embrace different cultures with the same zeal as my sister. Usually autocorrections bear some kind of similarity to the new words it suggests, and the replacements tend to be in the same language, but Crash’s autocorrections sometimes appear in another language altogether – bearing no resemblance to the original word at all. Here are a couple of her recent ones regarding Wonderbutt’s new Zazzle store.
It doesn’t help that even her communications that come through the way she intended sometimes have me scratching my head. So, I’m continually asking myself if I should know what she is talking about – or point out that she’s had another autocorrect malfunction. This somewhat defeats the whole purpose of texting – a brief correspondence that cuts through all of the pomp and circumstance of an actual telephone conversation. I spend more time deciphering Crash’s messages than I do on composing my blogs – which, believe it or not, is a lot of time.
Crash used to call me right after she sent an e-mail, and proceed to tell me everything that was in the e-mail. I’m thinking she may have to do some texting follow-up calls as well. I don’t want her to stop texting, though. She is my human Wonderbutt.
If you’d like to read more about my feelings on autocorrect, click here😉
My iPad has started burping music.
I downloaded iOS 5, being eager to attempt “mirroring” my iPad on our T.V.
Ever since the new download, the iPad has worked flawlessly, except for an infrequent sound that I can seriously only describe it as a musical burp.
The first time it happened, I thought I had accidentally hit the iPod icon on my iPad. But it has happened several times now, and since there is no reason that I should suddenly be quite that inept, I’m thinking my iPad is either feeling gassy or attempting to communicate with me.
What? Are you suggesting that is an incredible leap of logic? What reasonable explanation do you have for this phenomena?
With the introduction of the Siri app on the iPhone 4s, I honestly don’t think it’s reaching too far to suspect that my iPad is going rogue and trying to speak to me on its own. I’m not sure what it would be trying to tell me, but it could be something like, “Tell Wonderbutt to stop trying to lick my screen.”
If you think that’s too far-fetched (the iPad conversing with me part; you should all know, by now, that Wonderbutt is perfectly capable and more than a little prone to licking whatever he feels like), listen to what happened the other day:
Our Apple T.V. Box was rebooting (apparently it decided to upgrade itself when I turned it on). Wonderbutt was happily bullying Mrs. P.I.B. by stealing the orange Kong sphere and then literally rubbing it in her face. When the Apple logo appeared on the screen, Wonderbutt suddenly froze. He dropped the ball, and raced to the T.V., flattened his already smushed-in face against the screen, and tried to bite the apple.
I kid you not. Right where there is a bite already taken out of the apple, Wonderbutt gnashed his teeth. Dimples and I fell on the floor laughing.
Cap’n Firepants raced to save his T.V.
Now, I’m not telling this story to give you more proof of Wonderbutt’s adorable insanity. I’m thinking Wonderbutt suspects something. He knows Apple is trying to take over the world and that he, Wonderbutt, is the only one who can save us from this evil menace. Especially since his idiot family keeps buying iStuff.
So, I’m becoming a bit more wary of my burping iPad, which Wonderbutt would also gleefully chomp if I left it in his vicinity. I don’t believe in coincidence. The iPad, the Apple T.V., even Big Mean Kitty; it’s all beginning to make sense. From now on, the only operating system that gets upgraded is my own.
Let’s say, hypothetically, that you have been interested in someone – kind of “courting” this someone, so to speak. Let’s say, then, that you learn a little bit more about this someone, and realize that they aren’t really as great as you thought. You kind of lose interest.
Then, maybe your best friend suddenly displays some interest in the someone you willingly walked away from.
That’s somewhat bothersome. You might feel a little betrayed.
Did I mention you are married?
Oh, and that your best friend is your husband?
Kind of complicates things.
Just hypothetical, though, remember? No worries.
O.K. Here’s the situation. I wanted the new iPhone for my birthday. When I found out more about it, I decided I didn’t want it.
Now, Cap’n Firepants suddenly wants it. He already has a phone that’s one generation newer than mine.
I feel betrayed.
I know that’s irrational. Cap’n Firepants was more than willing to let me have the one upgrade we have available on our account right now. He’s asked me several times if I’m sure that I don’t want the iPhone 4S. And I don’t. Despite the fact that my current iPhone 3G could’t hold a charge long enough to complete a conversation with the fastest talking auctioneer in the world, or that its case looks like it’s gone through a war in which people fling their cell phone cases onto the ground to test for land mines, I am holding out for the next generation.
Now that he wants it, I am having second thoughts. Just like the boyfriend I ditched in college who suddenly seemed much more attractive when my best friend started dating him.
O.K., that never happened. But I’ve seen it happen in lots of movies. And it seems like it would be painful.
I don’t see why a pirate needs a cell phone anyway. Can’t he just use his cutlass to get his messages across to people? Or, what about the stupid parrot?
In an ideal world, I would date the boyfriend until he’s all used up, and then pass him on to my best friend when a better model presents him(it)self.
Somehow, I don’t think Cap’n Firepants would agree to this plan.
He’s so unreasonable.
Cap’n Firepants and I have advanced to the iPhone 4s dating stage of our marriage.
When we first welcomed Dimples into the world, dating went on a sabbatical, promising to return refreshed and ready to be even better than before. Then we realized that we needed to carve some time out for ourselves, and tried to make a regular date once a month. But the baby-sitting fees killed us. So, we slacked off. Now we are beginning to enjoy the unexpected benefits of Dimples’ own surprisingly active social life.
When Dimples gets invited to someone’s house for the evening, we do everything we can to take advantage of the time. Unfortunately, eight year old girls are not know for planning ahead. So, this is how it usually goes:
Dimples, when I am picking her up from after school care late Friday afternoon, states, “My BFF is going to see if I can come over.”
Then ensues a discussion of which BFF we are talking about. For those of you who don’t have 8 year old girls, this can change from minute to minute.
“Tonight? It’s almost 5:30 already. When was this great plan going to be set into motion, exactly?”
“She said she’d call.”
I check my cell phone. No calls.
Sure enough, though, at 5:45, BFF of the Moment calls.
I call the Cap’n, my own permanent BFF.
“Change in plans,” I say. “Instead of the dinner I wasn’t planning to cook anyway, we’re going out to celebrate my birthday.”
“Ok,” he gamely agrees, secretly hoping he will now be off the hook for finding a replacement birthday gift now that I have informed him he better not get me that stupid lame-o iPhone 4s. (We all know what the “s” stands for, really, don’t we?) So, we drop off Dimples and go to a restaurant to begin killing our 2 1/2 hours of freedom. After a relaxed, non-interrupted meal, mostly talking abut Dimples, we look at our cell phone clocks. Wow. We still have two more hours before we need to pick up Dimples.
What should we do? Listen to a hot new live band? Go see the new Clooney movie? Go somewhere for coffee like the good ole days when caffeine wasn’t going to keep us from sleeping, and who needs sleep anyway?
After much discussion, we decide to go home.
So, as we sit at home, laughing and playing with Wonderbutt and Mrs. P.I.B., I reflect on this new phase in our relationship. Somewhat improved communication, more face-time with the Cap’n, and apparently faster processing (based on the record speed in which we completed our date). Not bad.
But it could be better. Hey, I’m not complaining – just looking forward to the next model, er, phase, of our marriage.
Well, as I established in my first Dead Rubber (slang for “boring”) post, I intend to monthly allow myself one post that has very little point and reflects even less thought than usual. It seems so soon since my first Dead Rubber post, but it has been a month, and I am ready to cut myself some slack.
BOF means Boring Old Fart. Which leads me to the topic of today’s post – my birthday. Which is next week. Yay me.
Believe it or not, I am actually looking forward to it this year. I don’t remember feeling this excited about a birthday since I was dating Cap’n Firepants and obsessing over getting an engagement ring every time there was a gift-giving occasion. You know you’ve got it bad when you wake up on Groundhog Day wondering if your sweetheart will find a way to eke some romance out of Puxatawney Phil seeing his shadow.
Last year, I really didn’t care about my birthday. It was on a week day. I had a million things to do at school and places to chauffeur Dimples after work, so there was nothing special about the day as far as I was concerned. I did not loathe the day or anything. I was pretty much lackadaisical (love that word – hope it’s one of the ones in the Adult Spelling Bee in December) about the whole event. Grateful to have lived another year, of course. But didn’t see any reason to make a big deal out of it.
For some reason, my attitude has changed this year. Maybe it’s because I have this “it’s all about me” blog and I am starting to enjoy a little extra attention (although Wonderbutt is the actual star). Perhaps it’s because I now have Wonderbutt, who happens to share my same birth month, who makes me laugh while I cry every day.
But, I think that it more than likely has to do that they are announcing a new iPhone next week, and I am wa-a-a-a-ay overdue for an upgrade.
Yeah, so in my post, The Curable Romantic, I kind of mentioned that gadgets are the best way to my heart these days. And, fortunately, Cap’n Firepants is well aware of this. He has already verified with me that I am interested in the iPhone Nimbus 2000 or whatever they are going to call it. And I think he has been quite impressed that I haven’t dropped my current iPhone in the river, as I did with my last, non-smart, mentally deficient phone.
So, I think there is a good chance that iPhone >4 will be my birthday “surprise”, although I won’t be able to hold it in my hands on my actual birthday.
I am excited. Who cares if I am getting old and wrinkly? As long as Apple keeps finding more ways to take my money every six months and Wonderbutt has more wrinkles than I do, I can deal with it.
After I dated my Cap’n Firepants for a year, I started expecting a ring. I even knew how he would pop the question. We would go back to Fredericksburg, where we had gone on one of our first dates, and head out to the peach orchard. He would chivalrously offer to pluck the peach tree with the highest branches, leaving its particularly heavily laden neighbor for me to harvest . I would begin collecting peaches when, suddenly, I would spot, dangling delectably from one of the branches, a gorgeous engagement ring. And the Cap’n would get on his knees and proclaim his everlasting love.
That didn’t happen. Oh, the peach pluckin’ occurred. Just not the ring gathering portion of my daydream.
Six months later, it was Christmas time. And now I was really certain this would be the moment. I spotted a nicely wrapped package under the tree, and reasoned that, though it was far too large to be a ring box, he would certainly want to surprise me, thus placing it in a larger box. Not exactly original, but still romantic.
It was a cell phone. Practical. Not romantic. Very thoughtful, of course, since he was concerned about my safety in the somewhat antiquated jalopy I was driving at the time.
I said, “Thank you.” I think most women reading this post know that is not whatimeant2say.
Fast forward into our marriage. (He did eventually pop the question, though not in quite the elaborate manner I had pictured.) Cap’n Firepants, unlike most men, remembers every special occasion with a carefully chosen card and somewhat thoughtful gift. Things started to get a little too generic, though. One day, I tell him that I would be fine without the gift, but I would be thrilled if he would write something in his own words on a card. On the next occasion, he gave me a particularly elaborate card.
On the inside he wrote, “I really mean everything this card says.” Not quite the flowery words I was requesting.
A few years later, the Cap’n, who had apparently forgotten my blatant lack of gratitude the first time, took the chance again of giving me a phone I didn’t ask for.
But this time, it was an iPhone. And I learned to like it real fast. It was almost better than a diamond ring.
I liked the iPhone so much that I bought myself an iPad. By that point, I was so giddy with gadgets, I didn’t even care that we did nothing special on our ten-year anniversary.
I saw Cap’n Firepants looking wistfully at my iPad, and gave him my blessing when the new one was unveiled. I was a little jealous that he would have the camera and the Smartcover, but I figured I could hold off until iPad 3 rolled around. Cap’n Firepants, in his usual meandering manner, didn’t order the iPad 2 right away, however.
One night, he finally admitted that he had broken down and ordered one. Then, he casually stated that he had ordered two of them – one for me, too. We were at a bar, and I leapt out of my bar stool and commenced to produce a very public PDA. Cap’n Firepants loves getting himself a little DA, but not so much the P part. Nevertheless, I think he was satisfied by my reception of his gift.
And now, my birthday is coming up. I asked for an iPhone 5. Surprise and/or other romantic trappings not necessary.
Although it would be really, really perfect if I could stream The Princess Bride from Netflix on my new, very practical gift.