Back in April my husband started pestering me about us getting some smart phone called a Droid. I had owned PDAs and even PC phones before, before the iPhone pretty much revolutionized things. I remembered the little stylus, the clumsy interface with setting it up like a PC and the lackluster speed compared to a traditional computer. I mehed, I hemmed, I hawed. I pretty much rained on his parade and said, "me? What do I need a smart phone for? I'm fine with mine. You can get yours, I'll stick with my regular cell phone." Poor guy. But he kept working on me, and finally I said I'd give it a try. It wouldn't hurt to put a calendar in easy access of my hands but I said it would be a waste, that I didn't text and that it would in no way replace the ease of working on my laptop. Man have I been on a diet of crow ever since. I kind of like crow and I really love this little phone.
The same person who said she wouldn't text? Now she interrupts *cough* entertains her husband at work with random pictures from her day. The person who whined that it wouldn't replace her laptop? Well the poor laptop has gotten lonely. She's writing me these annoying stalkerish emails and I'm kind of avoiding the topic with her. Wouldn't want her to get jealous or anything. I now check the weather while nursing the babe in bed, scan books at the local store with the UPC scanner app, record videos of the kids while rocking away in my living room and have even been *gasp* known to post to the blog from the phone (though Google sure doesn't make it easy, hear that Google?!!).
But there's one little thing wrong in this relationship between the droid and I. It thinks I'm an idiot. See, I communicate via email and forums quite a bit. I pride myself on a decent mastery of the English language and even more so on my wonderful knack for using spellcheck. All hail to firefox for that wonderful spellcheck. Still, an error would escape my fingers now and then. A little typo here, an incorrect tense typed up in a rush there. Nothing the reader on the other end couldn't fill in almost automatically with this wonderful human mind we have. If I typed, "I'll scroumge that up for you", the reader could understand that I meant scrounge. All well and good.
However, my smart phone thinks it knows better than me. I find it kind of creepy in HAL sort of way. It has this annoying little feature called autocorrect that when I'm thumbing away on the onscreen keyboard takes a best guess at what my intended word is. Instead of scrounge it thinks I means "scourge" and then I come across online like I'm Balki from Perfect Strangers wishing a pox upon my reader. Mr. Maricucu says I can turn it off but the feature does come in handy sometimes. Unless I'm texting in Spanish with my mom and then it has a field day. In another year or so of adding Spanish words to the autocorrect roster I'll have the thing thoroughly confused and my poor friends are going to be getting the funkiest Spanglish emails evah. Good times, good times. So if you get a message from me and it sounds like I was hitting the sauce, rest assured that I'm not. It was just my droid.