How iPhones have made all of our lives Better(worse) [Gamer by Design]

If you read my column on the reg, then you know I spend about half my waking hours designing iPhone games. Oh and I also use an iPhone for my PHONE. So basically there is almost always an iPhone in my hand. This is a sad state of affairs, considering the fact that I’m not an Apple fanboy. All kidding aside, I give the iPhone its due; it made GPS maps actually usable on a handheld for the first time, it created the App store and improved the whole industry of making games for phones. We could go on, but let’s complain, that’s more fun. So here it goes, the reasons why iPhones make my life worse. Texting While Driving I think texting while driving is super duper dangerous, and I’d advise you to never ever do it. But remember when I had my T9, old school texting phone? The one with 9 numeric keys? You could text with that thing with one hand like it was your job. And because it had tactile, physical keys, you could do it without looking. So though you shouldn’t text while driving, you could text and walk, while looking at where you were going. With iPhones, you have to look AND use both hands to text. So with the advance in tech, you lose some of the very mobile functionality of the more simple phones. Oh and we all have to look like chipmunks with a nut when we text now. And that’s just not sexy. People talking on that stupid white headphone Mic That’s really nice of Apple to include a headphone with a mic with all iPhones, but we need to issue a PSA: You’re not really  supposed to use it that way. It’s supposed to be...

I Lie in Bed [Single White Nerd]

I lie in bed. I’ve been lying in bed.  I keep lying in bed. I’m not particularly enjoying lying in bed.  I’d like to get out of bed.  I know that if I get out of bed and do 50 jumping jacks, I’ll feel better.  It really wouldn’t take much.  Just swing my legs over the side of the bed.  That’s it.  Easy. I lie in bed.  I’m nestled against clean laundry.  It smells nice. I really should get out of bed.  There’s so much to do.  There’s that thing I want to finish and that other thing that I have to get done.  I can clean the kitchen, go for a walk, call a friend.  I think about all of the Things I Have to Do.  My chest starts to tighten. Experience tells me that 50 jumping jacks plus 30 push ups will loosen my chest.  That writing a list of the Things will keep the anxiety at bay.  That a cup of tea will center me.  All I have to do–and really, it will take less than 30 seconds–is get out of bed. I lie in bed.  My phone buzzes.  A text message.  I ignore it.  I’m very busy.  So much to do.  No time for texting. Outside, traffic whizzes by.  Cars driven by people who have successfully gotten out of bed.  If they can do it, why can’t I?  My legs work.  I flex my feet just to make sure.  I try to trick myself into getting out of bed. Self, I say, if you don’t get out of bed by the count of three, the world will explode. One. Two. Two and half. I lie in bed. I just want to get up.  God, I hate that I’m not able...

Dating via Text [Piping Hot Nerd]

I recently went on a coffee date with a guy who wrote to me from an on-line dating site.  I feel sometimes like I am still wearing a black dress over my last relationship and going to coffee is my way of showing the gods and myself that I am making an effort to “move on.”  He was nice. Not as tall as I like, but nice.  Intelligent.  Shaved head which is not my thing, but intelligent. Polite. Way too baggy clothes for my liking, but polite. It is just coffee, I keep telling myself. I have always confused a cup of coffee date with “Do I really want to spend the rest of my life with you?” And who made me the Mr. Blackwell of fashion and height and hair anyway? We had a really nice time and when he asked if I wanted to get together again I said yes without reservation.  I am working on being open and not absolute. He texted me on Thanksgiving to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving. That was really sweet.  I texted back and said I was stuck in Newark on my way to California.  He texted back: “Which gate?”  It turns out I was at 137 and he was at 132.  We would have our second date in the Newark Airport!  Alas by the time I saw his text he had boarded his plane to Atlanta and I was waiting for my burger and shake (Shhh: I’m on Weight Watchers.) CUT!! “Okay let’s do this again” says the director in my head. “He is going to text you and you are going to see the text right away this time.  And you are going to meet at Gate 135 and sparks will fly and clothes will...