2K9: The Year That Keeps On Giving

When my sisters and I were little, my family had a tradition of christening each year as it passed “The Year of the ____.” This tradition was specific to the family cabin in northern Michigan that we visit every summer and for whatever reason (because we are heartless mongers) was generally expressly related to a material acquisition that had taken place that year. For example, in 1988 my grandparents purchased a boat. That year evermore was referred to by the Rinder family as The Year of the Boat. The year prior my grandparents, perhaps in preparation for The Year of the Boat, decided that our stretch of lakeshore needed a dock. And so, stunningly enough, 1987 is remembered by us all as The Year of the Dock.

There was The Year of the Swing (’84), The Year of the Raft (’90), The Year of the Fake Snake To Stop Birds From Pooping on the Raft (‘91), and so on. Eventually there came a year in which the cabin experienced no noticeable commercial gain and so, in an effort to share our maturing values with the world and also distract ourselves from what could only have been devastating disappointment, it was decided that people could qualify as year-worthy. The Year of the Voorhies, dubbed for the dear family friends and former neighbors who joined us at the lake that summer, would somewhat mockingly become a year marked by commercial loss, which is why in some circles you will still hear it referred to as The Year Lindsey Lost Her Glasses Over the Side of the Boat Because She Wasn’t Wearing Her Croakie.

I tell you all of this not to relive the glory days of Michigan summers past, nor as a parable against gluttony and sloth (not mentioned here per se, but we were in fact quite gluttonous and slothful at the lake), nor even as a testament to the importance of Croakie wearing. Rather, I am reflecting on this childhood practice because as 2009 draws to a close and I mentally struggle to put some sort of capstone on the decade I find myself inadvertently bringing back the old tradition. This time, however, instead of marking summers in Michigan with material objects acquired during that particular year, I am marking years of my own life with material objects acquired during that particular year. You see the difference?

So for instance, had I been applying this designation system all along, 1987 could also have been dubbed The Year of the Barbie Dreamhouse. 1992 might have been The Year of the Bedspread I Got to Pick Out All By Myself, or conversely The Year of the Hideously Ugly Bedspread. ’88 would live on as The Year of the Big Girl Bike while ‘94 would forever be The Year of the Stereo Boombox with Dual Tape Deck and 3-CD Changer. While to me 1995 would always be The Year of the Gas Permeable Contact Lenses, those around me might instead remember it fondly as The Year That Mandy Squinted a Lot and Made Us All Uncomfortable With Her Constant Blinking.

I don’t want you to think, however, that this is a nomenclature based solely on physical possessions. The intention is rather to use the material objects as representations of larger life changes and developments that occurred during the respective calendar year. Reading between the lines then, 1992 becomes The Year That Mandy Learned That Her Choices Have Consequences and Also the Dangers of Pastel Color Schemes. 1989 was a milestone of maturity and independence and 1995 an awakening to ostracism and the cruel nature of one’s peers. 1994 was just awesome.

Which brings us to the present and the close of a glorious 2009. What object could possibly summarize such a year? 2009 almost cries out to be The Year of the KitchenAid, but at the same time could so easily be The Year of the Yoga Pant. Thinking back still further, The Year of the Shower Curtain seems fitting, with subtext as The Year Mandy Learned That Bathroom Accessories Can Cost Upward of $100 and Became Aware That Her Roommate is a Semi-Obsessive Anthropologie Online Shopper.

In the end, however, there is truly only one purchase that I will forever remember from the past year. And so 2009 becomes The Year of the iPhone.

This is the year that I learned that, while there IS undoubtedly an app for that, whatever that is, I probably don’t want it and instead would rather spend my $0.99 on a completely impractical and utterly useless app that I had never heard of and knew nothing about until I realized I couldn’t live without it. I’m talking about the TextsFromLastNight and FMyLife.coms of the mobile world. I’m talking about Wurdle, LineUp, and Scrabulous. I’m talking about the fact that I had never noticed a void in my life of time spent staring at virtual fish until it was filled by Koi Pond.

Let me just clarify something for those of my readers who know me personally (so all of you): This purchase is in no way a reflection of my desire or proclivity to talk on the phone. I abhor phone talking and I am fairly confident that I always will. This hatred is not at all related to the individual on the other end of the line and whether or not I want to talk to that person (except you - I'm actually screening you). But on the whole I’m really just not built for telephonic conversation.

Enter the iPhone.

This is a singular device, disguised as a telephone, that enables me to use pretty much every other means of communication imaginable to get in touch with someone and thereby avoid verbal conversation entirely. If someone, for example my lovely socially enabled roommate, is not responding to my text message for some reason, perhaps because she is too busy spastically refreshing the Sale section of Anthropologie.com, I can then shoot her an email. In this particular example, the subject line might read “Re: Our Household Bathroom Accessory Budget.” If that doesn’t appear to reach her, I have the option to post a message on her Facebook Wall while at the same time sharing a photo album with her entitled, let’s just say, “Cost Effective Shower Curtain Options.” I could easily browse Yelp.com in order to recommend some alternative and more affordable linen vendors in our neighborhood and, on the off chance that my aggressive fiscal sanctions may have caused irritation or even annoyance, send her a preemptive user-generated Someecard that reads “Sorry My Cash Flow Problems Don’t Allow You To Spend $100 on a Shower Curtain.”

Had my communications in this scenario for some reason fallen on blind eyes, I may have discovered that my iPhone would also enable me to transfer funds into my checking account or even request a bank loan.

I perhaps would have even been able to receive and view a Someecard from my roommate that read “In an Effort To Make Amends for My Unresponsiveness, I Got You a Fabulous New Shower Curtain. At Half Price.”

Can you understand why it was love at first sight?

The phone, not the shower curtain. Although the shower curtain is quite attractive as well. No really it is! I love it. And the matching towels.

I have to go feed my koi now.