You’d think I’d be organised by this stage in my life. After all, I’ve been in one occupation for half a century.
In fact the casual observer might assume that I am indeed organised. I have, arrayed in front of me, a fax machine; a busy body telephone that chats to people and takes messages; a cellphone whose number I can never remember and that can take pictures (I ask you); a personal computer with email; an ADSL device with flashing lights that keeps me constantly in touch with the world through an ever-open line; Skype through which I can talk to people across the world for nothing (it doesn’t yet work and I don’t give a damn)- and people can write to me via a Post Office box number or a street address.
Eight ways of communicating – 10 if you choose to shout through my letter box or throw a brick through my window with a message tied to it.
But the truth is I am more technologically overwhelmed than organised.
The nearest I am to being organised is the possession of a supposedly out-dated “personal organiser”. This is n diary bound with artificial leather and which has a burglar-proof press-stud fastener. I bought in the 1980s. Admittedly, even then, nothing was allowed to be that simple. This one had extra sections divided by stiff plastic leaves and you could buy accessorises for it just like you could for a Barbie Doll.
It had a “yearly planner” which could be folded out displaying all your important dates for the year. I spoilt mine by writing “My birthday” on the wrong day. So I threw that section away. There was a section labelled “things to do” and another labelled “Notes”. It had a plastic ruler and a section for filing transparencies and another for keeping visiting cards.
I threw all these sections away and just kept the day-at-a-glance bit.
I realised that owning a personal organiser, unless one showed discipline, could become just like owning a Barbie. Not that I have ever owned a Barbie Doll but I do know that when a small girl owns a Barbie she simply has to have all the extras such as handbags, the latest shoes and so on.
One could, by filling in all the sections of a Personal Organiser, squeeze one’s entire future life in between the covers – all one’s PIN codes, telephone numbers, addresses and appointments for the rest of the year.
All nice and compact.
But what if one leaves it on the bus?
Do the shops that specialise in Personal Organisers sell cyanide capsules to keep in a tiny locket round your neck so that if you lose your POI you can bite on the capsule and drop dead because you might as well.
The Personal Organiser has been replaced by these new cellphones that fold out and have a qwerty keyboard like a miniature typewriter and through which you can download your emails and send faxes. You can also take movies.
It is the cellphone equivalent of the Swiss Army Knife. It can store hundreds of telephone numbers. It can store your detailed diary and has a built-in alarm to remind you of each appointment.
I know a fellow who can get television on his cellphone.
These cellphones even have a GPS (geographical positioning system) into which you type the address you are looking for and a voice tells you when to turn left and when to turn right.
It tells you your precise geographical position to within a metre.
It eventually rules your life.
Lose it and you’re dead.
Filed under: General
