Today I did something ridiculous. I downloaded the Moleskine App for my iPad. For the uninitiated, Moleskine makes little journals and tells you all about how they were used by some famous authors or artists.
Now, I’m a computer professional who loves gadgets. When I don’t have some kind of gadget with me, I feel strange and find myself checking my pockets repeatedly. Strangely, though, when I visit a bookstore I am tempted, no, compelled to buy a Moleskine. I don’t really know why. I think I dream about putting all of my profound thoughts in it and apparently that’s what I do. The 5 or so I have remain practically empty.
I don’t write anymore. Practically never. I type. I put my thoughts in Evernote. I lack emotion and feelings, so I don’t journal or anything, though I plan to start journaling tomorrow (along with exercise, dieting and fervent prayer).
So, that’s what’s so particularly ridiculous about the Moleskine app. None of the profundity of the beautiful leather. No sense in which I’m joining the ranks of Ben Franklin or Thomas Edison furiously noting my amazing insights into philosophy, science and politics. Just plain digital note-taking, apart from the cloud. But I downloaded it and played with it. And I’ll probably keep it…just in case.