Soon, I moved on to the harder stuff, downloading $3 and $6 apps without a thought. Click, click. There was MLB.com's At Bat for baseball stats and video, Wine Snob to track my tastings. With my credit card information conveniently on file, one-click shopping eliminated the pondering process. It's an impulse buyer's dream -- and nightmare.
I'd click in at work during down time to do a quick look, or tap the App Store on my iPhone when riding on a Wi-Fi connection: Did something cool show up in the middle of the day?
I'd click in at night to scour an entire category page by page.
I even began to share my addiction with my mom, who inherited my first-generation phone when I upgraded to the 3G. (Come on, Mom, I said, it's just a click -- everybody's doing it.)
Somehow $10 for a game began to seem the same as a 99-cent click. From all reports, Super Monkey Ball was well worth the money. No argument there, but the game, frankly, stresses me out a little too much -- something about the bubble-bound monkey flying off the track into the water way too often.
Soon I had more apps than I could ever think of using -- five iPhone screens' worth. I had downloaded about 80 apps. Although many of them were free, I'd spent $90 within a few weeks.
I tried grouping them page by page to be able to make sense of them. This is no small task because dragging an app from the first screen to the last takes some serious digital dedication. (Note to Apple developers: You might consider figuring out how to offer users the ability to configure the screens within iTunes.)
This application shuffle helped distract me from the fact that I had to connect my phone to a computer or power outlet about every 20 minutes to keep it charged should I actually want to use the phone. Checking e-mail and using all those apps kept sucking my battery dry.
Every time I checked the App Store, there was another offering I wanted to try. There are about half a dozen Weight Watchers-friendly apps. Which one is better? Because there are no trials you have to buy the app to figure it out -- or base your purchase solely on the reviews.
(A plea on behalf of the app addicted -- a core constituency: Apple, how about offering trial versions? It seems to work for Pocket PC and Palm.)
Then I hit my highest high. (No, I didn't buy the “I Am Rich” app for $1,000. I have my standards.) In a fit of iPhonic euphoria, I clicked away $30 within seconds to download the American Heritage Dictionary app. You never know when you might need to define something, right?
But that's where I had to draw the line. I had become app-pathetic.
To slow the flow of money from my account into Apple's coffers, I've had to put on my own parental controls, so to speak. I activated the shopping cart feature. Imposed prudence, I thought.
Unfortunately, it doesn't apply to application purchases.
I still have twitchy fingers, but I'm trying to think before I click.
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michelle.maltais@latimes.com
