I own a little voice recorder.
Maybe you’ve heard me talk about it. It’s the only real gadget that I’m proud of, which, thinking back on my last five years of technology purchases, feels strange. My laptop is lightweight and reliable, despite and possibly in spite of a sticky Shift key that I created. I didn’t last a week without spilling soda on the sucker. I have an iPad, which still feels like the most indulgent thing to say. I use it almost every day, but I’m almost embarrassed to pull it out in public. Last year, I made such a dramatic upgrade to my record player that the people at the shop said, “Congratulations!” and offered to carry it home with me. And this Christmas, in a world where we were doing just fine with our 12-year-old junker, my parents bought us a new TV.
I guess I have a lot of gadgets. I guess I’m turning into my father.
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