The launch at the Apple World Wide Developers’ Conference yesterday of the new model iPhone 3GS was a damp squib, a spectacular confirmation that Apple can make a bunch of geeks in an auditorium applaud at will.
The new phone will look like the one I’m blogging on right now, it will have a marginally enhanced camera, a compass for those people who need such things, the ability to interact at a software level with hardware accessories, and, in a five-year throwback to something Nokia did as an embarrassed little aside, the ability to be controlled by voice.
Excellent. Buses and trains full of cretins not talking on the phone to an human being somewhere, actually interrogating their telephone. And you know how those conversations will go.
“Hey, iPhone, what is this song?”
“The time is eleven thirty, go to work and stop playing with your phone”
“Hey, iPhone, what album is this?”
“Showaddywaddy Sings The Priests Greatest Hits. Steve Jobs Approval Rating 1.2”
“Hey, iPhone, why did my girlfriend leave me? I need advice.”
“iPhone wuvs oo, master. Why not go to the app store and buy the Suicide Girls App?”
Apparently, the S in 3GS stands for ‘speed’ though, in normal circumstances, an iPhone 3G user would need to be on crack, not speed to want to pay the Apple Tax and upgrade.
Which brings me to the theme of this week’s blog. My iPhone 3G still looks great, still works fine, still does the trick, is lovely, and will be upgraded within a week of the release in Ireland of the new 3GS.
The inevitabilities in life used to be death and taxes (or death in taxis as one friend of mine misheard it). Now, add on annual iPhone upgrades.