I got an early birthday gift this week. My husband gave me a netbook with built in mobile broadband should the desperate need to google, blog, or consult wikipedia strike when a WiFi connection is not available. It is about 10" across, weighs about three pounds, and tucks neatly into my purse. It was a most excellent gift, indeed. I love it.
As I was becoming acquainted with my new toy, my husband said, "So now you won't need to carry a pen and notebook with you everywhere you go anymore."
Whoa there! Back it up a bit, buddy! The technology impresses me. It even amazes me a little bit. But a replacement for pen and paper? Hardly!
I know people who have completely given up pen and paper. They don't have landlines, either. They don't understand me any more than I understand them. (We still like each other a lot, though. Unity through diversity, no?)
I like taking pen to paper. I like writing outside and watching the ink quickly dry in the sunshine. I like the process of jotting things down. I like the very word: jot. I like writing without spellcheck - it's like working without a net. I'm adventurous like that, what can I say? I like my handwriting. It's sloppy to the point of illegibility sometimes - it's pretty and distinctive when I make an effort. It's always mine. My own personal, fallible, human font.
The netbook is great. It keeps me connected to the greater world.
The notebook and pen keep me connected to myself.
Those are both good things with which to be connected. There's room in my purse and in my life to accommodate both.