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Bluetooth
I hope that your Thanksgiving gathering was filled with the good cheer that being with family and friends can generate. As is tradition, we were at my brother’s home in Ridgewood with about 28 of the usual suspects. This year my son was not with us; last year it was my daughter. I am getting used to not having them home together for these occasions, but I am not liking it!
The day after Thanksgiving I did a task that I have done for decades: the wash. I took a shortcut and didn’t check the pockets. So, I washed my cell phone. The overwhelming sense of competence that swept over me as I stared down at the phone at the bottom of the washer remains with me today.
Well, no big deal, just go get another phone, which I did within the hour. I figured I’d just get a phone like the one I had, one that made and received calls, gave access to voice mail and could text message — something that I have never done and have never felt the need to master.
When I held out my old “device” (it seems they are no longer “phones”) and asked for an equivalent, it was made clear that I was holding something akin to a touch key for Morse code. Even though my old phone smelled sweetly of fabric softener, it and all its like were destined for the dustbin.
For the equivalent cost of a JetBlue ticket to Florida, I left the store with a device that can do so many things I never plan to do. Take 30 second video clips and send them simultaneously to 16 friends; take photos and not only send them off but archive them at a new web site that I am apparently a member of now; browse the web on a 4 square inch screen; download music; tune into streaming TV; be alerted to pre-selected events, such as the decline and fall of western civilization; and select different ringer tones to identify different callers. When I came across this last feature, I imagined myself spending hours matching potential callers to specific types of music or tones. Why was I having those thoughts? Why can’t my phone just ring?
But, there is more to come on this adventure, and I want you to know that I did not simply back away from the future.
Two weeks ago I bought a new car. Upon perusing the owner’s manual, I discovered that this car was “Bluetooth Enabled.” I knew a little about Blueteeth. Because I remember when people spent fortunes having custom “invisible” hearing aids made of clear plastic that fit in the ear. I remember when talking loudly to yourself in public was indicative of a serious mental disorder. But now it seems to be a sign of great technological status to have a small torpedo attached conspicuously to an ear while jabbering away for all to hear. That’s pretty much what I knew.
Reading the manuals, I came to understand that my car and my device could work seamlessly together. My car could, in fact, become the ear torpedo for my phone. Well, I was intrigued now. I really do like technology; I just come to it slowly, at times.
I sat in that car, with both manuals, well into the night with the visor light on, trying to get these two things to cooperate. There were passkey numbers that needed to be punched in, there were device addresses that needed to be recognized; there were more screen menus to flip through than I have ever encountered!
In the end, they do work seamlessly together. I do not know exactly how this was achieved. I could not duplicate it. I can dial my phone with the touchscreen and speak through a microphone, both on the dashboard. (Are dashboards still of that name?)
I suspect the day will come shortly when I send a photo to my son in San Francisco or my daughter in Denver via “picture mail.” I will be pleased and amazed at how easy it is to be in touch with those who are so important to me, over great distances, especially when we cannot all be together for Thanksgiving.
David M. Lowry, Ph. D.
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