And now Brecht, given the fact that I'm visiting my sister's settlement a bit of Brecht seemed to be appropriate:

Radio poem

You little box, held to me escaping
So that your valves should not break
Carried from house to house to ship from sail to train,
So that my enemies might go on talking to me,
Near my bed, to my pain
The last thing at night, the first thing in the morning,
Of their victories and of my cares,
Promise me not to go silent all of a sudden.

(I'm not sure who is the translator.)

Whatever we think of modern technology think of what people said about the radio a couple of decades ago.

The last thing at night, the first thing in the morning.