Movin on Up?

When I was a little boy, my dream was to live in a big city apartment. I'm sure that dream was born of watching TV because there were no big city apartments in Kimball, Nebraska, where I was born.

I thought the opening of Green Acres was fabulous when Eva Gabor swept back the curtains to a view of the Manhattan skyline. I, also, adore a penthouse view. I sympathized with her character, forced to live in the country with a bunch of bumpkins when she could be shopping in the city.

Later, when I was six, my favorite TV show was The Courtship of Eddie's Father, where a little boy lived with his handsome dad (Bill Bixby) in a cool high rise with a balcony and a housekeeper. That's what I wanted.

Of course I ended up not glamorously in the sky but on the ground floor between the mailboxes and the laundry room.

When I moved into my condo, I planned to stay about a year. I'd build up a little equity, save some money, and then move to Capitol Hill where I really wanted to live. That was 16 years ago. 

In the early 90s, I rented a roomy two bedroom apartment in central Denver with huge closets for $350 a month. It was Heaven. But by the time I was ready to buy, the real estate boom had taken hold and I couldn't afford to live in my own neighborhood.

I was forced to invest in my current property on the far away southeast side of the city (ok, it's 10 minutes from my old apartment, but that's light years in urban neighborhood terms).

I'm still in my "starter" home. Of course it's much nicer than when I moved in. The avocado green kitchen is gone. The flowery 1970s decor in the bathroom has been replaced by subdued gray walls, a blue granite counter, and elegant silver fixtures. My pad is nice now. But there's no balcony.

It's not just the building I'm thinking of changing. It's the neighborhood.

There's nothing actually wrong with my neighborhood. It's as safe as any in the city. There are plenty of stores and public transportation. The population is interestingly diverse. I love watching the South Asian men play cricket in the park across the street, for example (and it's not because of my interest in sports).

But Cap Hill has history, architectural diversity, a larger Gay population, a more urban feel, and tall buildings with balconies.

I have reached a point where if I'm going to move, now would be a good time. I have a little cash for a down payment and the interest rates are low. I'm not sure I'll do it. But I would sure like to fling open the shutters and see something besides the neighbors carting laundry.

Keeping Up with Communications Technology

My current cell phone was purchased in 2010 under protest. I didn't think I needed it. My previous cell phone was just fine. It allowed me to call someone and receive calls.

It was an improvement over the one before which took two hands to hold and only worked if you stood in a certain place outside, holding your elbow exactly the right way. That one was so primitive it practically required a crank to use, and was worthless in the isolated parts of Wyoming where I sometimes go.

I'm old enough to remember when having a phone in the car was something of a novelty, reserved for the very rich and possibly mobsters.

Anyway, the cell phone company refused to fix the newer phone that I liked, and insisted that I procure yet a newer model, which I did.

My new phone could make and receive calls, but also had texting which I wasn't sure I would ever use. Turned out that while certain female relatives rarely returned phone calls, they did respond to texts. A convert, I now text more than I talk.

But at three years old, my texting cell is a dinosaur in phone time. When the protective case broke a while back, I went to the special mobile device store to get a new one. The young, technically gifted employee sadly shook her head and said they didn't make that model anymore. It looks like it may be time to upgrade again.

Because of brilliant marketing and planned obsolescence, I am now probably going to have to buy one of those things that are way more than just a phone.

I don't want to surf the net. I wouldn't know what to do with an "app" if it hit me in the head. I suppose I might take a picture, but not a video. I just want to make phone calls and send texts. Yes, I work with technology every day at my job. But at home I want my computer to be my computer and my phone to be my phone. I suppose it's possible that, like texting, once I have "apps" I'll enjoy them and wonder how I ever lived without them.

I must admit I'm still impressed when I'm in the car with someone, and a question no one can answer comes up, and within seconds Google has given us the answer - in the car! Truly these aren't phones anymore. They're portable computing and communication devices.