:: Peek-a-buse ::

Friday, February 14, 2003

I work in the technology industry. I am constantly exposed to a barrage of shiny new mobile devices and sometimes impressed by the new features their manufacturers decide to incorporate. We (and by "we", I mean myself and the people from whom I'm most likely to contract a communicable disease: my 9 to 5 brethren) are awash in a deluge of ever-improving PDAs and mobile phones, which is, depending on the mood, alternately manna from heaven and a plague of locusts.

The driving impetus behind accruing this techno-cache, as well as its primary benefit, is the honing of our expertise and ability to deploy successful mobile applications. It serves its purpose... sometimes.

That aside, there are a number of ancillary advantages. On occasion, the frighteningly rapid pace of technological advancement serves (somewhat paradoxically) to assuage any concerns one might harbor about any comparably rapid fundamental evolution of human behavior. Or, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Take, for instance, a phenomenon prevalent during the nascent 20th century in association with the completion of the Flatiron Building in New York City. Utilizing innovative and ground-breaking (pun intended) new technologies, the designers were able to build what was then the world's tallest building. The skyscraper did more, however, than simply allow for a quantum leap in urban density and commercial office consolidation - it fostered abuse as well. The odd shape of the building provided a salubrious environment for gusts of winds that would periodically lift the petticoats of female pedestrians, and unsavory types would linger to gawk at the racy sight of women's ankles. The problem eventually reached such proportions that police had to constantly patrol the adjacent street corners, shooing away the leering men (this was not, as the above link indicates, the origin of the phrase "23 skidoo" - follow this link for apocryphal info - though the phrase was undoubtedly quick off the tongues of the constabulary).

We received a phone a while back which has been languishing in a coworkers desk since its arrival. The small size of the device belies its usefulness, as it contains not only all the features one might reasonably expect from the upper echelon of today's untethered talking-boxes, but a camera as well. The lens does not protrude or call attention to itself in any way, unlike many of its contemporaries equipped with comparable photographic abilities. In fact, the lens is almost seamlessly flush with the back of the phone's case, and is so inconspicuous as to be unnoticed in an initial cursory glance or handling. This is an excellent addition. Users need not sacrifice anything at all (size, weight, form factor) and in return receive a fully functional digital camera, albeit one that takes images far (FAR) inferior to dedicated devices (like my digital camera, Rupert). You're out with a friend, enjoying some drinks, waxing nostalgic for olden tymes, and -snap- you've taken a picture and sent it off (flying through the air in millions of tiny pieces, to paraphrase Gene Wilder) to another friend around the world. Sentimental bonding ensues.

The first phones to have cameras incorporated made quiet clicking sounds, mimicking the ancient shutters of the first analog cameras now well past the sesquicentennial anniversary of their invention. The phone of which I speak, however, makes a very audible BEEP! - one that is not easily ignored (even by Gene Wilder's character in "Hear No Evil, See No Evil", who was deaf) and one that cannot be disabled. Why? Much like the Flatiron building, this new technology was abused. It seems that, like their lewd predecessors before them, lads of the modern age could not resist the temptation to peer underneath women's skirts and, having their phones on them omnipresently, would reach down for surreptitious and stealthy Kodak moments without the knowledge or consent of their subjects. The loud BEEP! of this new model is intended to notify those in the vicinity that a picture is being taken, lest anyone's modesty be compromised (this tidbit courtesy of our CEO). It is the cell phone equivalent of a 23 skidoo.

So there you have it - the twenty-first century's answer to the epic perpetuity that is the battle between randy gentlemen aching to glimpse up a woman's skirt, and those who would put an end to it. We should not forget, as we barrel down what might seem like a chaotic, evolving, and unexplored road, human nature's constancy, and its ability to force the repetition of history ad infinitum.

Nor should we ever forget the rhetorical pertinence of Gene Wilder.

Posted by morland @ 05:17 PM

:: Comments ::

23 skidoo... on the car in Mallinckrodt. Makes me want to do the Charleston.

Speaking of the Charleston, Morl, Al, Rob, Sam, Brian, and that guy that wouldn't give me a ride after the Super Bowl: Mr. Kaesemeyer says hi.

Posted by: nate on February 14, 2003 06:19 PM

Does anyone else appreciate the irony of this post and the one previous? Need I encourage you boys to work on talking to women and using credit cards, not vice versa?

Posted by: Anna on February 18, 2003 12:24 AM

In this world of hard plastic women and seductive alluring credit lines, there's really no choice.

(Notice how I use "wit" to totally exculpate myself. The fault must lie with others, no?)

Posted by: morland on February 20, 2003 10:40 PM

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