Posted on: August 20, 2008

I am horrible with cell phones. I’ve lost or broken every phone I’ve ever had.

Their deaths were hard on me from the graphite flip phone runaway that was never found to the a red Nokia who suffocated under couch cushions and the most tragic, a silver Moto who committed suicide by jumping into a mosh pit.

Forced to buy the cheapest replacement phone once a year, I was never able to acquire the coolest new phone. My cell shame grew as I started to attend more web conferences. The hot pink razr that replaced the suicide jumper was a poor fool compared to the iphones, Blackberys, Sidekicks and the rest of the rad phones of the web savvy professionals.

Then I had my first phone crush….I lusted after the Sony Ericsson W580i Walkman. An adorable jungle green slider, I fell in love with its useless apps. I thought being able to record and identify songs on my phone would make my life complete. But after a few months, TrackID, Pocket Fitness and VideoDJ have lost their luster and my eyes have started wandering…


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