New Yorker 2011I find Techland difficult country. The terrain is steeply mountainous, the language alien and the natives impatient. Though when they birth a new gadget or app, the flash of colorful lights and all the party noise are so enticing! But frustration, wasted money and time have taught me to wait. I figure, let the enthusiasts grow that baby up some before I venture over there to meet it.

Lately, the buzz is about Siri, the “intelligent assistant” on the newest iPhone iteration, the 4S. Just as Captain Jean Luc Picard of Star Trek, The Next Generation commands his First Officer (“Number One” Riker) to make it so, so may we command Siri to make it so. Maybe so. Time will tell.

Meanwhile, I have plenty to fill the void: lounging on the couch, peeling grapes, keeping up with my chosen profession (shrinkdom). And my unchosen profession (running a business, a.k.a. the practice). And the second oldest profession (motherhood). As for staying married, a woman’s work is never done.

Speaking of which, darling Hubby is tech-impaired. Texting eludes him, checking e-mail’s off the radar, and does he ever have his phone on him when I need him? I despair, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t see the value. Or he sees it, but the learning curve’s not worth it. 

So we’re visiting with a couple of a certain age, only older, and animatedly chatting away when the husband starts, and raising one hand— Excuse me a moment please— pulls out his iPhone with the other. He lifts it to lip level and tells it: “Remind me to pick up my medicine from Walgreen’s tomorrow.”

The phone replies, in a pleasantly modulated female voice, “So you’d like me to remind you to pick up your medicine tomorrow?” 

“Yes, please,” he tells it. Returning to us, he says, “Excuse me for interrupting. My memory isn’t what it used to be.”

“Wow!” I ejaculate. “What was that?”

The wife says, “Meet Siri.” 

“Amazing!”

Hubby says, “Come on. That’s not realistic. It should whine, Why me? Or, Ask your wife!"

We all laugh. 

“Or, Not again! Or how about, I’m busy tomorrow. Try next week, maybe Monday or Tuesday.” 

We crack up.

“Does it work as a GPS?” I ask. “Hearing directions would be so much safer than reading them, especially driving alone.”

“Yes, it does that,” the husband says. “It’s great!"

"Yeah," the wife says, "I love it when it tells me, Take this exit, just as I drive by it."

We crack up again.

“What really surprises me,” says Hubby, “is that it doesn’t yell: Schmuck! You just missed your turn-off!” 

“Yes, Siri is very polite!” the husband agrees. 

“I don’t know,” I say.  “Too much Siri, you could lose your edge. Dealing with obnoxious people has serious survival value.” 

Hubby snorts. “What if Siri proves reliable? Talk about creating unrealistic expectations. When was the last time a live person gave you accurate directions? Or did their job as expected? I can see it already. Emergency rooms and jails will be clogged with the Siri-dependent!" 

“You know what I read the other day?” I say. “There are enough people suffering panic attacks and severe anxiety when separated from their cell phones that a new diagnosis is being considered for the revised DSM! 

“Get out of town!” laughs Hubby. “What it’s called? No-cell-phone-phobia?” 

“Close! Nomophobia: fear of no mobile service.” 

“Come on!” 

“No joke. See what comes of browsing the net?”

I confess: I LOVE my iPhone. How I kept all my balls in the air without it, I don’t know. The other day, I left it at work. OMG! It wasn’t an option, I dashed back to the office. And heaved a sigh of relief lifting it off my desk.

I tapped the calendar app (a.k.a. application), tapped the next day’s date, and typed in: Remind Hubby to pick up his meds at Walgreen’s— yes, I corrected the typos— set the alert (a.k.a. alarm), and tapped Done. Wouldn't a one-step voice command be awesome? I asked myself, returning the phone to my bag with an affectionate pat. Yes, it would.

As soon as my Verizon contract runs out, I’m upgrading to an iPhone 4S. I can’t have a wife, but I can have a Siri.