By Rita Poliakov

I do not own a BlackBerry.

I can’t access Google whenever I want to, I can’t answer emails while in the bathroom and I can’t look cool and professional on the job. And that used to be okay. I used to be able to roll my eyes at BlackBerry addicts, and friends would agree with me. We’d laugh, smirk and go on with our lives.

But then, around a year ago, a friend of mine got one. And then another, and then another.

It turns out BlackBerries aren’t for businessmen anymore, they’re for anyone and everyone. And that’s not a bad thing. Owning a BlackBerry means constant access to information and people regardless of time or location. It means that more and more contacts get back to me quicker and that definitions and facts are only a click away.

But with all the communicating going on every second, what are we really saying?

BlackBerries have turned emails into one-line briefs. They’ve turned conversations into clacking and classes into silent Blackberry-offs to see who can find the answer first.

I think it’s the clacking that’s getting to me. Hearing 20 keyboards in action every class is bad enough, but the BlackBerry has a unique sound, like little hamster paws tapping on metal. Over and over and over again. And it’s everywhere. But what are we gaining from it?

BlackBerries can open up a new world of instant contact, but they’re also forcing people to lose themselves in this world. With everyone communicating all the time, there’s no one left for me to talk to.

Alright, maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but they call them Crackberries for a reason.

According to AOL’s 2008 email addiction survey, Americans check emails everywhere.

Sixty-seven per cent of those surveyed check it in bed while in pyjamas, 15 per cent check it while in church, 25 per cent check it while on a date and 59 per cent check it while in the bathroom. Sure, these are American statistics but, if experience proves anything, Canadians can’t be that far off.

BlackBerries are not the enemy. But even the best things only work in moderation.

So please, dear God please, make the clacking stop. Just for a little while.

Response

By Stacey Askew

I own a BlackBerry.

I can access my emails whenever I want to, or more accurately, whenever it wants to access me. I didn’t invest the $15 extra a month it would have cost to to get the miniature web . . . but nonetheless it’s somewhat imbedded in my very being.

I was once one of those people who would forget my cellphone at home on a semi-regular basis. Then I progressed to a person who forgot it about once a week. I am both proud, and slightly ashamed, to admit I have forgotten my gorgeous, red, BlackBerry Pearl only once or twice since I bought it seven months ago.

I feel compelled to acknowledge I am also one of Rita’s “BlackBerry addict” friends.

I remember when my dad got a BlackBerry from his company soon after their debut. My mother was not impressed. He would bring it out at dinner (only when it was urgent . . .) and it didn’t take my mom long to virtually despise the tiny device. While I don’t feel I am quite as drawn to my own BlackBerry as my father, I am definitely getting used to having friends and family give me the evil eye over meals on occasion. But really, the clacking is necessary.

Sitting in boring meetings, or even on the subway, I can turn once useless time into a veritable wealth of contact possibilities. I can type up an email, which may be only three lines, even when Ryerson’s limited computer resources are taken up by my non-BlackBerry-using peers. I argue that people would prefer those three lines fast over a wordy, cordial 19th century-like letter email any day.

Using a BlackBerry in moderation, unfortunately, defeats the point of having one.