the world has turned and left me here

own my phone

I know you love my phone. It loves you. Or should I say, it will learn to love you. With its sleek design, time-saving features and unparalleled reliability, how could you refuse to trade me an item of roughly equal practical and aesthetic value for it by end-of-month?

How could you turn your back on the pure joy you will receive when you discover it has rebooted randomly, and the joy of deja vu when it does it again 15 minutes later? Life may be full of surprises, but it isn't full of enough surprises, you must admit. You need technology to create them for you--after all, it's only fair, since technology took them away.

How could one possibly forego a text messaging system that doesn't integrate with your contacts, period? How could you pass up typing their names all over again in T9 and submitting to a web form that subjects you to a minimum of three lengthy clicks to do anything while you watch "receiving...sending..." progress bars the whole time play across the screen like a tennis match between two stoned manatees?

Guess what: you can even take this baby down in the subway! Of course, with no signal down there, you can't do much else but watch it actively search for 15 minutes straight with no exponential backoff algorithm, then fall down on its own sword when the battery runs out. So that's why I always pleasurably turn the phone off when I go underground, and pleasurably wait another 30 seconds for it to boot up when I emerge. Are you saying you have a problem with pleasure?

Like I say, it's probably a little too cool for you--your best friends might think you've finally started playing the status game. They'll go home, crack open a beer and wonder if it's still cool to call and tell you about their issues with girls. Especially with you cradling this sick lodestone of power the whole time.