Sh*t I Don't Understand: Bluetooth

Ever wonder why, whenever you see or hear stories of alien visits to Earth, these aliens never stay? I'll tell you why. Because the people on our cozy planet have a unique ability to be f*ing unbearable at the drop of a hat, or, in the case of our topic for today, the clip of a device to an ear. Like we've said several times in this space, you give the general public some new freedom or convenience (via technology or however), and that proverbial inch turns into a proverbial yard faster than you can download a Lady Gaga ring tone. Such is my disdain for the Bluetooth.

I get how the Bluetooth is supposed to be such a life saver when it comes to people talking on phones while driving, but even that postulate is debatable. The "hands-free" aspect still doesn't eliminate the fact that you're engaging in an outside activity while operating a 3,000+-lb moving machine at the same time. But my real issue with the Bluetooth is when people choose to use the things outside of the car, whether they're at work or just walking around in public. Is it me, or is this just douchebaggery to the umpteenth degree? It's bad enough I have to be subjected to the crap you insist on putting into my face when you're actually in the car, but now I'm privy to your phone conversations when all I'm trying to do is walk from Point A to Point B? You think no one will mind listening to your pointless, self-important blabbering? I mind, man. The Dude minds.

I wonder what the thought process is that leads to a person deciding they should walk around with one of these things. I can't be certain, but I think the following is a good stab at it:
"Do you have any idea how important I am and how valuable every second of my day is? Not only must I be on the phone for 75% of my waking hours, but reaching into a pocket to make or receive a call is simply out of the question! I need this bad boy clipped to my ear at all times, otherwise the rest of the world is way too far away from me!"

Talking on a cell phone in public can be as harmless or as annoying as you choose to make it. But when talking on a Bluetooth, you feel like you have to yell into the thing to be heard on the other end. So there you are, in a public place while everyone else is trying to just go about their lives, speaking with your voice at "the band just went on at the bar" volume, most likely smacking away at some mundane conversation about where you're going for dinner that night or the yardwork you plan on making your husband do tomorrow. Now, I have some unfortunate news for you if you're one of these people: nobody gives a damn about your goings-on. Nobody. You are not interesting, and even if you are interesting, talking on your Bluetooth about the time you climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro is obnoxious nonetheless.

I laugh to myself whenever caught in a situation where I'm standing in the vicinity of a BlueDouche and, not having seen the person to know that they're talking on a phone, I get the impression they're talking to me. One time I was in front of a Cherry Hill soccer mom in line at the food store, and it sounded like she was questioning every item I was buying. I place the Red Bull on the counter and hear "no, I don't think so." I put the oatmeal up there and hear "I just don't think that's a good idea." At that point I had to turn around and say "excuse me?" only to get the patented "startled/perturbed look and smartass point to the centipede on your ear to indicate you're in the midst of a phone conversation" reaction from the Queen of Suburbia yapping on her Bluetooth about letting her kids go out that night. Or at least that's what I gathered from her conversation, since she continued to yap away for the remainder of my time standing 3 feet away from her.

Here's my thing - I don't care how far our technology goes, 2 out of 3 conversations we have during the course of a day can afford to wait. Just because you can talk to a person with the touch of a button doesn't mean you need to be talking to that person at that given moment, especially when activities of normal existence are consuming you. And most of the time, if the phone call you are about to make or receive is really that important or necessary, then you shouldn't be be trying to squeeze the call in while you're in the gym locker room, the post office, or some other transient state.

The Inconvenience of Convenience

Technology is a great thing isn't it? Our culture, and especially our generation, is just enamored with it. And no matter what facet of life you're dealing with, chances are there has been some sort of technological development in the past 20 years that revolutionized it. We have so many nicnaks and doodads designed to make every little step of our days that much more convenient. But I wonder, at what point do these added conveniences become counter-productive?

For instance, a few weeks ago I got a text from my sister, saying "Just read in People magazine that Feces Finding has a single out......thought you may be interested since you set up her stage." She was referring to a singer named Fefe Dobson who did a show at the day camp we both worked at back in the day (and yes, I did work on her stage). But did you catch that little error up there? I'm pretty sure if the actual name of the group were Feces Finding, they'd be targeting a whole different segment of the market. Alas, what happened was that her phone has an autocorrect texting feature that will change words it doesn't recognize (which is bound to happen with a lot of names) into words it does recognize. So "Fefe" became "Feces," a chuckle-worthy text blunder caused by a feature designed to make things more convenient.

These things are all over the place. Most colleges these days have an online file sharing system where professors can post assignments, grades, etc. and students can submit papers and homework electronically via a dropbox feature. This is all great, but is it really worth saving the trip to physically hand stuff in? And you don't even want to know what happens if the internet goes down and you can't get your assignments or submit your work before the built-in deadline. It's a shitstorm in a snow globe.

This is the world in which we trudge about our lives. You can't type a word on a computer anymore without spell check having a seizure on your screen. That supremely annoying Microsoft Office paperclip above has managed to gain the wrath of everyone born after 1970. It's great that we have cell phones with email capabilities, but isn't a by-product of those luxuries the fact that you are now accessible in many situations where you really don't want to be accessible (especially in regards to work)? Go into any public bathroom, and you have those automatic-flushing toilets, automatic sinks, and motion-detecting paper towel dispensers. How unreliable are these things? Don't you just love having to wave your hand in front of those things like a jackass to try to get them to serve their function in life? Half the time they're broken anyway, leaving a foul-smelling bathroom with no paper towels to be had.

There's nothing wrong with most uses of technology in an effort to make things more user-friendly. The problem occurs when all of a sudden we are relying on overly involved or complicated systems to do simple and mundane tasks. And why have such elaborate developments been made in some of the seemingly least necessary areas? To counteract human ineptitude, of course!

There is no need for a motion-detection system wired to flush a toilet. There is no need for a laser-powered viewfinder to tell to a golfer exactly how far he is from the hole. Nor is there a real need for an autopilot mode built into new cars to essentially parallel park themselves. But somewhere along the line, laziness and ignorance won out. Auto-flush toilets became necessary because enough people thought it was OK to not flush. Bad golfers with money to burn never grasped the concept of playing by sight, and decided that a handheld surveying system would somehow offset their terrible swing and lack of instincts. A demand for parallel-park assist developed out of the apparent staggering decline in humanity's ability to operate a motor vehicle. The examples go on, but I'd like to think I've made my point.

"I'll Text You" - The Appeal of Impersonal Communication

Ever find it funny that a phrase spoken thousands of times a day was probably hardly ever uttered as recently as 7-8 years ago? If you said "I'll text you" to someone back then, you'd have gotten an odd look in response. Same thing goes if you told someone "I'll IM you about that homework later" back in the mid-'90s or if you said "I'll email you those files you were asking for" back in the '80s. As technology continues to progress (and gain a stronger and stronger hold on our lives), our preferred methods of communication become less and less personal.

I got a new phone today, and after going over all the texting plan options, mobile internet packages, how to check your email and use the camera, etc. etc., I had to remind myself - "oh yeah, this thing actually calls people too." You have to admit, we love our phones in this generation. But what we love even more is using them for things other than phone calls. We hardly ever call people any more just to talk; we usually only call people or (gasp!) interact face-to-face if the situation explicitly demands it.

Between AIM, email, and texting, it's a fair estimate that we do as much non-personal communication in a given day as we do personal communication. People from our parents' generation do not comprehend why we text - after all, why not just speak to the other person directly? Well, let me take a stab at explaining why. Texting is ideal for non-urgent matters, or telling people things that they don't need to respond to. Telling someone "I'll meet you there in 10 minutes" does not require a phone call. It's also good for when you really don't have anything meaningful to say. For instance, I text funny movie or TV quotes to people all the time, just for them to read at their leisure. It's a little thing that can lighten your day up.

If it boils down to one thing, it's this - the techno-savvy generation will avoid confrontation every chance it gets. Texting avoids people being put on the spot - you can respond as quickly -or not as quickly- as you want. Emailing people at work instead of calling them keeps us from hearing an possibly agitated person on the other end (or keeps people from hearing our agitated selves on our end). Most of all, texting and emailing are a crutch. We don't have to think on our feet in texts or emails, and we don't have to worry about stumbling over our words or sounding like an idiot. Why? Because (and we ALL do this) you get to read over your texts and emails before they're sent, giving you a chance to finely tune your words like a surgeon.

We've seen countless "funny because we've all been there at some point" scenes in movies and TV shows where a guy is sitting next to the phone rehearsing his words before calling a girl to ask her out. Has it reached the point that these types of scenes are now obsolete? Would an equivalent scene now consist of a guy (or a group of girls) zeroed in on a phone screen nervously constructing the perfectly-worded text? I believe it has. And in the height of irony, we defer to impersonal communication to avoid looking stupid, but so often it renders us looking like drones attached to a tiny piece of machinery. I guess it's one battle lost and one battle won.