Even though I’ve come to accept that two spaces after a period is wrong, I can’t stop doing it. I really can’t. My fingers have a life of their own. Every time I hit the “period” key, my thumb goes tap-tap on the spacebar. Even when I literally think to myself at the beginning of the sentence, “Self, only hit the spacebar once at the end of this sentence.” Self is about as good at following directions as certain seven-year-old tennis players on a Friday afternoon.
Franzen once compared getting a new smartphone to upgrading an old girlfriend who you once thought you’d love forever. In my case, I felt like recognizing a good relationship had run it’s course and you’d be better off as friends. After activating my iPhone 5s last night, and putting my 4s and its now obsolete charger away in a desk drawer, I felt sad. I don’t think I’d anthropomorphized my phone before, but despite my excitement over Siri, I’ll admit to a moment of tenderness and reflection that we’d shared a good thing for the past two plus years. 5s, you can trust me, after all, you have my fingerprint.