For more years than many of you have walked on this planet, I have steadfastly rejected a mobile phone, earlier known as a “smart” phone to distinguish it from the dumb ones.

(Yes, especially for geezers like me, mobile phones without any “apps” are still available.)

I did own a mobile phone back in the day when they were called car phones … and we got along reasonably well, I daresay. I even had one of those damned digital devices back around 2008, when they were introduced to the public and known as cell phones. Even then, they were too big for their britches and proved themselves much smarter than me. So frustrated was I with the self-serving novelty that I threw it against the wall, stomped on it on the ground, and brought the broken plastic pieces back to the shop I had purchased it.

“Do you give courses where I can use to learn how to use this?” I asked. The salesman grimly nodded no. “Does the technical college provide training for adults on how to manage these infernal contraptions?” He laughed but shook his head again in the negative, saying “It might be a good idea. You should contact the public schools and community colleges to see if they would offer one.” To which I retorted, “When they give courses on how to use smart phones for stupid old men like me, I’ll consider buying another one. But not until then!”

And so, it went …

My partner (younger=more tech savvy) has been the guardian of the family phone. We said a teary goodbye to Ma Bell when Comcast squeezed us and promised to give us lots more communication opportunities for lots less money.

They lied.

So, calls come in for me on Russ’s móvil (as they’re called in Portugal). He uses Skype to make free international calls, Zoom for remote staff meetings, his bank’s cyber counterpart to scan checks his aunt sends from the USA and deposit them in his bank account over there. He knows the time and weather, can calculate and compute, determine the best way to get somewhere, take pictures and send them to me or post them directly on Facebook.

He knows his apps.

Fine. Let him have them.

As for me, I was perfectly happy doing online banking, searching for information with Google, chatting with friends from Facebook, writing my stories and books, and even printing out detailed directions for getting from here to wherever. All on my desktop computer. Somehow, over the years, I moved beyond the first-generation Macintosh into the world of wired PC operations and beyond—through the wireless realm where nothing cooperated according to the instruction manuals which came in teeny-tiny booklets written in 37 different languages. All type, no illustrations. At least Ikea instructions I can decipher.

But now, apps are taking over the planet.

Heck, I had to wait nine months for my new car (Dacia Duster) because the chips empowering the apps had to travel through war-torn Ukraine. “Production side difficulties,” I was informed. But if truth be told, apps are the driving force behind vehicles today, not motorists. Everything is digitized so I no longer need to balance my clutch, brake, and accelerator if I don’t want to lose control and slide down the hilly streets of Olvera (Spain) and Portugal. That’s because my car comes with “hill assist.” The infernal vehicle knows when to turn on the lights and the windshield wipers. It reminds me when to upshift and downshift. It makes nasty noises if I take too long in attaching my seat belts. It even thinks there are passengers in the rear seat who need to affix their seat belts when it’s just a bag full of groceries. It’s got a rear view mirror and side view mirrors with cameras and beepers to warn me when I get too close to the car parked behind or in front of me. It even has a “dead spot” monitor that tells me if there’s a vehicle in my blind spot that I cannot see. There’s a point, though, when enough is enough: I absolutely refuse to allow my car to park itself (or, for that matter, do most of the driving without me).

Have I digressed?

To use my computer, I need a mobile phone so that another computer can confirm my identity by sending a code to the phone … which I then must enter on my computer.

How many passwords do you have—and remember? Stored in my Google Passwords Manager, they’re all controlled by an app. And now that I’ve run out of space on my Passwords Manager, Google kindly reminds me that I can increase my storage (in the cloud, of course) … by renting more space. Trouble is, I can’t figure out how to make the payments from my computer—especially if I’m digitally transferred to another service, like Paypal, to pay. Meanwhile, how curious it is that if I go to my Password Manager, Google asks me for the password before allowing access to my securely guarded secrets.

And now everyone (but me) uses Whatsapp, “internationally available freeware, cross-platform, centralized instant messaging (IM) and voice-over-IP (VoIP)” service owned by American company Meta Platforms—aka Facebook!

I’d give a rousing LOL to this techno mumbo-jumbo … but it isn’t funny!

Talk about selling one’s soul in a Faustian bargain. Doesn’t Facebook (i.e., Meta) know enough about me already, which it shares with the highest bidders?

Whatever.

I discovered – or so I thought – that I could download Whatsapp directly to my computer to communicate with those (especially merchants) who use the platform. I got all the way to the fourth step in the process when – Gotcha! – I was instructed to enter my mobile number so Whatsapp could send it a QR code (or whatever it’s called) which I would then hold close to my computer for it to read. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

I don’t have a mobile device. That’s right: I don’t have a mobile device. And I fear that the apps are coming to get me. It’s just not fair!

“App” isn’t even exactly a word, but an abbreviation. It’s a computer program or piece of software designed for a particular purpose that you can download onto a mobile device. As a shortened form of the word application, app represents a contemporary example of what process linguists refer to as “clipping.” Computer programs designed to carry out specific tasks other than relating to the operation of the computer itself, apps are used by end-users (us, not an abbreviation) for word processing, media playing, accounting, and lots of other nifty endeavors on mobile devices … like phones.

There are apps for everything—from learning a language to buying move tickets. (There must be an app for TicketMaster, but I’m not sure of its current status.) Apps can be bundled with a computer and its system software or published separately and may be coded as proprietary, open-source, or projects.

Some apps are available in versions for several different platforms; others only work on one and are called, for example, a geography app for Microsoft Windows … an Android application for education … a Linux game. According to Wikipedia, “Sometimes a new and popular application arises that only runs on one platform, increasing the desirability of that platform. This is called a killer app.”

Why does Elon Musk come to mind?

Still, the plot thickens: “Mobile-app quality is becoming an increasingly important issue. These apps are generally delivered through app stores that let users post reviews, providing a rich data source …”

Imagine that!

Being a writer and a poet, I wish that app was shorthand for something other than application. Like apple. In the Bible, the phrase “apple of my eye” is first used figuratively. The apple of the eye was a favorite idiom of Old Testament writers to indicate something (particularly a person) that one values above all others.

Shakespeare used the idiom in his A Midsummer Night’s Dream; alas, he was using the phrase quite literally—simply referring to the pupil of an eye.

Sometimes, the old masters knew a lot more than we do.

KISS: Keep things simple, stupid!

Who would have thought that a “killer app” is a good thing?

Or that, regardless of their shape and size, they’re running our world?

Bruce Joffe is publisher and creative director of Portugal Living Magazine. You can read the magazine’s current and past issues, and subscribe — for FREE! — at https://portugallivingmagazine.com/our-current-issue/