An iPad Argument

I want an iPad.  I’m supposed to want an iPad.  I’m the demo; middle-aged guy with toy money.  And I like a new toy at least as much as the next consumer unit.  I’m just not sure what I’d use it for.

“But dude,” you reply, shocked at my impertinence, “it’s good for EVERYTHING!”  That’s right, you used all caps and the exclamation point.  I saw you.

“True,” I reply with cool aplomb, slightly mystified at your overreaction, “but I already have stuff that does everything.”

“Uh huh,” you say with a tone in your voice that says I’m full of it even though we’ve never met and you don’t know me at all.

“It’s true,” I say, forgiving you for your mercurial nature and freakishly long monkey toes, “if you don’t believe me then read the junk I’m about to write just below this dialogue.”

“Ok, sexy,” you say, finally won over by my roguish smile and effervescent charm.

I have an iPhone.  Now, know this: my iPhone is a tiny miracle made of sunbeams, kitten noses and Leonardo da Vinci’s pencil stubs.  Four hours after I took it out of the box I mourned the waste that had been my life– my desiccated existence– before iPhone.  Because I have an iPhone I no longer have to carry a dictionary and a thesaurus wherever I go.  It is my clock and my compass.  It is my mailman and my anchorman.    It is the way.  It is the means.  It is the center.  It completes me.  Nobody puts my iPhone in a corner.  It surrounds us.  It penetrates us.  It binds the galaxy together.  It makes telephone calls.  I love my iPhone.  I don’t need the iPad for apps.

The iPad is a magazine reader too.  I like magazines.  I subscribe to many.  But I like to read magazines… privately… in various, undisclosed, shadowy locations throughout the house.  I don’t want to tote an $800 iPad with its outrageous service plan anywhere near running water.  Besides, I like a magazine to be waiting for me in case I’m… you know… in a hurry.

I wouldn’t play games on an iPad; that’s what all of those game systems under my TV are for.  And I don’t play handheld games.  I read.  I’m not trying to be pretentious.  I’m not judging you for loving Pokemon… much.  I just love to read.  I always have.  I would rather read rather than play Scribblenauts, no matter how revolutionary Scribblenauts may be.  I do like the word Scribblenauts, as evidenced by the number of times I’ve used the word Scribblenauts in this paragraph.  Also, reading is part of my job.  Good writers read more than they write, or so some good writers have said.  Maybe most importantly, I have a two year-old boy.  Two year-old boys are very loud.  I miss quiet.  Video games are bad at quiet.  Books excel at stillness.

Ok, I could read books with my iPad… except it doesn’t do that very well.  I’ve tried it out at the store.  It’s too big.  You need two hands.  It doesn’t have the electronic paper that the other book readers use.  E-paper is the technological advance that made book readers popular.  Reading on an iPad is like reading on your computer… and that’s fine, I’ve done that before too… but I already have a computer… and a book reader.

“Ha!  You bought a book reader?  What a WASTE!”  What is it with you and the all caps and exclamation point anyway?  You’re the belt and suspenders type aren’t you?  Do you like succotash?

“Yes, I did,” I reply with the coiled intensity of a kung-fu monk, “and I’m glad I did.”

“Ignoramus,” you sneer, “they’re called Shaolin monks.”

“Meta much?  I know what they’re called,” I say, giving you the middle distance stare.  “I just wanted to see if you’d fall for the Nerd Trap.  Ha!  NERD.”  See that?  One at a time; first an exclamation point then all caps… so much better, right?  Let that be a lesson.  You owe me a beer.

“Whatever,” you say eleven-year-old-girlishly, “I like real books.”

“So do I,” I reply, “and if you’ll read this next bit, I’ll explain.”

“Ok,” you say non-subtextually.

I love books.  I have a living room full of overstuffed bookshelves to prove it.  I like the feel.  I like the weight.  I even like that smell.  Hardbacks, paperbacks, leather-bound, or crumbling cardboard; I love them all.  Far more important though, is what’s in the books.  (Underlining… didn’t think of that, did you?  You’d better watch out or I’ll italicize something.  I’ll do it, I swear to Douglas Adams, I’ll do it.)  The content is more important than the medium.  So I love my eBook reader too.

I have a Nook, the Barnes & Noble version.  I picked it because of the little color touch screen, the non-proprietary files (says the guy with the iTunes account) and the Lend Me feature.  Also, I’ve had hours and hours of joy just farting around in Barnes & Noble.  All Amazon has ever done for me is occasionally not charge me for shipping.  It was an easy choice.  I liked it so much I got one for my wife too.  She liked hers so much we got one for her mom.  Her mom liked hers so much she… uses it a lot and thanked us a couple of times… what is this a shampoo commercial?  Like you have two friends who have two friends anyway.

Now, granted, while an eBook reader is the kind of tool that Alton Brown would disapprove of (What if I don’t need my bottle opener to smoke a salmon while doing the dishes?), it is surprisingly good at the one thing it does.  No glare, no backlight; it looks just as good in bright sunlight as it does under a warm, incandescent reading lamp.  It is worthless in the dark, but then, what book isn’t?  Book readers store hundreds of books, which is handy if you like to read more than one thing at a time but are tired of carrying a purse, a briefcase and that canvas tote bag with the picture of two kitties conversing in thought bubbles about perseverance.  Also, eBooks allow you to read incognito.  Are you reading William Faulkner or Erica Jong?  Tolstoy or Tolkien?  Pride and Prejudice or Men Are From Sports Authority, Women Are From Bloomingdale’s? Your mother-in-law will never know.  Buying books has never been easier either.  Open the shop, pick the one you want, wait a few seconds for it to download and then you too can finally know The Secret.  I will never stop buying real books, but I think you can agree that some books don’t need to be displayed, particularly if your shelf space has become limited.  Oh, did I mention that eBooks are cheaper?  Way cheaper.

“Dude! You’ve got it BAD for the plastic bookie thing,” you say, finally having learned some restraint, “and you totally forgot we were talking about the iPad, not your new fake paper bed buddy.”

“You’re right,” I say, “I apologize for becoming distracted.”

“Really?  No snarky remark?”

“Nope.  I’m good.”

“So, are you going to buy an iPad?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Yeah?  You sure?  They’re crazycool.”

“I know.”

“I have to say, while I disagree with your argument that all of that other junk is as good as an iPad, I really respect that you’re sticking with your principles here.  At least you’re no slave to American consumerism.”

“Yeah, I’ll probably just ask for one for Christmas instead.”

“Good plan, Dude!  Scribblenauts!”

“Scribblenauts to you as well, my friend.  Scribblenauts to us all.”

“Hey mister fancy writer guy; am I male or female?  The dialogue could go either way.  Am I like a closeted fratboy type or a grumpy skater chick or what?  Dude?  Dude!  DUDE!”