When I bought my first cell phone, a decade ago, I vowed, "I will never turn it on -- only for emergencies!" In retrospect, this assertion bears more than a passing similarity to other misguided statements such as "I will never drink again," and "I swear to you, if I ever get back together with that guy, please shoot me."
Today, as I left my apartment to meet my friend Brooke for brunch, I realized I'd forgotten my phone. "Oh well," I thought, "what am I going to need it for? I'm only going for brunch and then coming home." But then, as I sat waiting in the restaurant, and Brooke didn't arrive right away, I started feeling the vertigo of phone-lessness. What if something happened? What if she wasn't coming? How would she reach me? What if I was at the wrong place?
And then, I thought to check what time it was ... and even though I wear a watch, I always set it 7–10 minutes fast so that I won't be running late (this works about as well as you think it does, which is to say, not at all), so I usually check my phone if I want to see what the exact time is. And of course I couldn't do that. Because I didn't have my phone.
Time to kill as I sat there? Oh fun, I get to play Angry Birds! But wait, I couldn't. Because I didn't have my phone. (I pulled out my New Yorker instead. Yes, I realize that Angry Birds is killing my brain cells.)
Anyway, Brooke showed up soon enough, and all was well, though she briefly thought I was mad at her because I wasn't answering her texts saying she was running late. How far we've come from the days when we thought our cell phones would only be for "emergencies," or when we said things like, "Why would I want people to be able to reach me whenever they want?" or "I don't want to be one of those people who's always on their phone."
It made me wonder, what would happen if we all left our cell phones at home one day? Would everything just ... stop? How would we ever communicate? We'd have to be on time, for one thing: no more "running 5 minutes late" or "just got off the subway!" We'd have to be everywhere we said we'd be, when we agreed we'd be there. And if you went out, you'd be out -- no interruptions, no distractions, no "just a minute, I have to take this." If someone wanted to reach you, tough luck. You'd interact with the world, not with your phone. What a novel concept.
Not that that means I'm leaving my phone at home again.
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I've only eaten at the vegetables-only restaurant Dirt Candy once, because, well, it's vegetarian. (The one time I ate there, I liked the food. Shocking!) But I've enjoyed reading chef/owner Amanda Cohen's blog over the past few days. One of the nice things about being unemployed is that I actually have time to read on the Internet, and though over half of what I read is related to fantasy baseball, I'm enjoying finding well-written pieces I wouldn't have thought to seek out before.
In Amanda Cohen's Dirt Candy blog, she talks about having just endured the worst week of her life, from having her diswasher break to earning a subpar grade from the Health Department to losing her longtime sous chef. She's a good writer, and I'm sure that anyone who's ever worked at a restaurant can relate.
More inside-the-kitchen blogging worth reading: Sara Jenkins (of Porchetta fame)'s regular column for the Atlantic about opening her new restaurant, Porsena. I haven't read all her columns yet, but I did particularly enjoy this recent one on Yelp reviews. "I really don't know what restaurants these people are eating in," she says. And though she appreciates feedback in her efforts to improve, "I try not to read Yelp anymore." Believe me, I can relate.
