iBelieve!

If you had told me two months ago that I could be even less productive than I already was, I'd have said you were crazy.  And not like in a joking, slap-you-on-the-back "Aw, you're crazy" sort of way.  But in a jumping-up-and-down-on-Oprah's-couch certifiable way.

I simply did not think it possible.

And then, I met my new best friend: the iPhone.

And now, huge chunks of my day are just gone, completely eaten up.

How much of my day?  To answer that question, I've prepared this helpful pie chart:

It's probably the best graph I've ever done.  It represents how I spend my non-working hours. (And if we're being completely honest, some of my working hours.) I think it's pretty self-explanatory. "Lost" represents those times during the day when I sit down and it's 3:15, then before I know it, it's 4:30 and I haven't really done anything at all, just kinda spaced out for awhile. Where did that time go? I don't know. But it happens quite often.

"Bone, you went a little overboard with the apps."

That statement was made to me by a seven-year-old, as he played with my new iPhone a few weeks ago.  By the way, the same kid also commented while listening to me yell at the TV as Alabama was dismantling Michigan on the opening weekend of college football, "I think you're a little obsessed with the TV.  Maybe you shouldn't watch TV tomorrow."  Out of the mouths of babes...

You know how those iPhone owners are always like, "If you ever try an iPhone, you'll never own anything else."   Like they're sooo special and in a completely higher class in the smartphone feudal system than the rest of us.

Well... they were right.

And now, I'm one of them.  I have been baptized into the cult.  And we're talking full immersion, not just sprinkling.  I have been given the name Tania!

We are a devoted sect.  A peculiar people, if you will, forever bound to our cellular messiah, Steven Paul Jobs.  We search the iTunes Store daily to see whether any of these apps be free.

As you may know, I didn't grow up in an iPhone family.  My parents raised me as a strict Nokia-ite.  But I felt there had to be something more out there.  Eventually I struck out on my own and after dabbling in several operating systems, I discovered the Blackberryists.  They suited my needs at the time.  But, lo, I had no idea what untold riches and glory did await my wretched soul in the Tabernacle of Apple.

After my Blackberry died back in July, for six days and six nights I wandered around in a cellular-less wilderness, with nothing but the manna of instant messaging to sustain my techno-starved soul.  Then, one glorious Tuesday afternoon, I experienced a road-to-Damascus-like miracle, as a customer-service-Moses at the AT&T store did shewest me the promised land.

That's right, dearly beloved.  I'm here to tell you there's something else: the Apple world.  It's a world of never-ending happiness, where you can always shop the iTunes store, day or night.  And they need no Kindle there, neither light of Nook, for the preponderance of apps doth taketh up their day.

Now I shalt go into all the virtual world, and preach the good news of the iPhone to every nation.  He that believeth and downloadeth (apps) shall enjoy eternal smartphone happiness.  He that believeth not shall be condemned to a life of frequent battery pulls, and possibly lots of unnecessary productivity.

And who would want that?

I would like to close today by paraphrasing a quote by the sage old bard, Thomas T. Hall: "Ain't but three things in this world that's worth a solitary dime: old dogs, children, and this iPhone of mine."

Now, if you'll excuse me, I must attend to my Tiny Tower.  It appears the Glass Studio on the 26th floor needs to be restocked.

Can I get an "amen?"

"Then I saw her face / Now I'm a believer / Not a trace / Of doubt in my mind / I'm in love / I'm a believer / I couldn't leave her if I tried..."

Blackberry cleanse

Day four...

I feel almost completely disconnected from society now.  Even more so than normal, I mean.  Friends I once had daily contact with, I haven't heard from in weeks.... or, days.  Last night, I managed to scrounge up some mushrooms for dinner.  (And fish and rice.)  Were they poisonous?  Who knows.  (OK, probably not, as I got them at the grocery store.)

Such is life with no cell phone.

My Blackberry bit the dust on Wednesday.  Died on the 4th of July, someone should make a movie.  Since then I have withdrawn further and further into an isolated, text-less, cell-phone-less existence.

When something you have relied on so heavily is taken away, you can't help but start to ponder things.  Things like, I never realized how texting has almost entirely replaced instant messaging in my life.  I used to have like 186 friends on AIM.  Now, there are five people signed into my Gchat.  And four of those are orange.

I still have a landline, but no one calls.  Or if they do, I don't know it, because they would be calling my Blackberry, which isn't working. And I can't call anyone, because years of reliance on cell phone directories have erased my memory of virtually all phone numbers except immediate family members.  And/or it's long distance.

I suppose I could email someone and ask them to call me.  But I'm not that desperate.  Yet.  Also, sometimes people act like they never got your email, even though it's clearly in your "sent mail" folder and there was never an issue with them getting any of your emails before when they complained because you're still Rickrolling them once a week, but as soon as you send one asking if they want to hang out, all of a sudden they're having Gmail issues!  I mean... I've heard.... that happens.... to other people.

Spending all this time alone, thinking about all the calls and texts I'm missing... it can, uh, make a man crazy.  How bad has it gotten?  Today I almost struck up a conversation with a telemarketer.  Almost.

What's next?  Speaking to someone face-to-face?  I shudder at the thought.

I'm sure some of you might be asking, "Bone, why in the world do you still have a landline?

What can I say?  I have trouble letting go.  Of course, I also have trouble committing, which is kind of a rare combination.  It's not easy being me, OK?

Still others of you may be wondering, "Bone, why don't you just get a new phone?"

Well, that would be the easy thing to do, wouldn't it?  It's just that I dread going to the phone store.  It's like we Blackberry customers have become anathema now.  When I bought mine, the guy was doing everything he could to talk me into another phone, any other phone.  And that was 18 months ago.  I can only imagine he and his good-time iPhone buddies laughing it up after I leave this time.

Also, it's been a welcome break for my Texter's Thumb.  *flexing thumbs*  I can really tell a difference already.

Besides, this has now mutated into some sort of masochistic exercise in self-deprivation.  You see, there comes a time in a man's life when he needs to strike out on his own, remove himself from society for a few days, and see if he can survive without all the modern-day amenities. 

So for the past four days, it's just been me and the bare necessities: my laptop and my TV. 

How long can a person live like this?

As my number of Gchat friends online has now dropped to three, I'm guessing not much longer.

"Open your eyes, you might see / If our lives were that simple, we'd live in the past / If the phone doesn't ring, it's me..."

This could be you (if you weren't famous)

Sometimes I like to imagine celebrities are watching my life and thinking, "This would be me if I weren't famous."

After all, that's pretty much what this blog is -- a reality show in writing.  I remember back when we first began this, I did an interview with the local paper about blogging.  No, really, I did!  Why does no one ever believe me anymore when I tell that story?  I thought the girl who wrote the article might have had a crush on me.  Turns out it was more of a crush on my blog.  

Anyhow, about the only quote I can remember from that interview seven years ago is, "It's kinda like having your own Nick & Jessica show.  Except it's just Nick."  (You may remember Newlyweds: Nick & Jessica?  Even though that's been about one thousand, two hundred and eighty-seven reality shows ago.)

I like to think reading about my life gives celebrities that little extra motivation they need to stay famous.  Take yesterday for example, I came home from work and dozed off while watching General Hospital.  Then I woke up and had two bowls of Cocoa Pebbles.

But that was nothing compared to today.  Today was a big day for me.

First, it's Gordon Lightfoot's birthday.  I don't have to tell you how big a fan I am of Gordon Lightfoot.  And have been ever since I discovered his music, way back a couple of years ago.  I celebrated by tweeting him a birthday message, even though I found no evidence whatsoever that he's even on Twitter.

Secondly, today is also Guinness World Records Day.  I don't have to tell you how badly I want to make it into the Guinness Book Of World Records.  Because I have already told you.  Several times.  It's one of my two main life goals.

To me, 95% of getting into the Guinness Book is finding the perfect record to break.  The rest is easy.  That's why I spend such an enormous amount of time pondering it.  I believe life is best lived in the mind.

As I was reading about the various world record attempts that would be going on around the globe, one in particular jumped out at me: The largest gathering of ABBA impersonators.

What?!?!

I didn't even know there were any ABBA impersonators!  They must be like the Swedish Elvis! 

So I've spent the day sharing my ABBA love with friends, downloading some of their songs I didn't have, and searching (in vain) for a way to make that backwards B appear on the screen.

And lastly, completing the trifecta of my big day, I downloaded a new app for my Blackberry.  I kept hearing all about this game Angry Birds, therefore I decided I would see what all the fuss was about.  Except apparently Angry Birds isn't available for the Torch, at least not that I could find.  So instead, I get to play a game called Angry Farm. It's similar to Angry Birds, but... not quite.

It's kinda like when you were a kid and you wanted a Barbie, but your parents said they couldn't afford one, so you got a Cindy doll instead, for like $1.99.  Then when the other kids came over and brought their Barbies, they looked at your doll and were like, "Who is that?"  Hypothetically, I mean.

Thus concludes my big day.

Now, imagine with me if you will... Somewhere in sun-drenched Celebrityville tomorrow, in between filming another episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and the new season of Ice Loves Coco, Ice-T will take a break to check his Google reader on his iPad and see that I've posted a new blog entry. 

As he reads about my life, he can only shudder and shake his head while thinking, "If I weren't famous, this.... this would be me."  Look closer and you'll see Ice's newest ink is a tatt of my blog URL, underneath the words "Stay Famous."

Later in the day, he'll curse me a little when he realizes he's got "Dancing Queen" stuck in his head.

*pound pound peace*  You're welcome, Ice.

"You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen.  Dancing queen, feel the beat from the tambourine..."

Carrying a torch

What does Bone's title refer to today? Oh, well, let's see, it could be anything. It could refer to the Olympics. An old flame, maybe. Or perhaps his new blowtorch side business. All are stimulating possibilities. They're also all wrong.

Today's title refers to my latest foray into the world of technology. After three-and-a-half years, two roller balls and three batteries with my previous phone, I decided it was time to make a change. Tuesday morning's sticky roller ball episode was the last straw. So I went to the AT&T store.

I'm proud to announce you're looking at new owner of a Blackberry Torch. Oh sure, they tried to talk me into an iPhone, but I stood my ground. I played with the iPhone some, but I kept misspelling words. And if there's one thing I wouldn't be able to live with, it's that. Can you imagine me sending email after email with misspelled words? Me?!?! I think not.

Besides, as a dear friend of mine said, "You're an old man. You like the qwerty keyboard. You don't like change." To which I replied, "Exactly."

No newfangled touch-screen keyboard for me. I'll stick with my ol' trusty slide-out qwerty, thankyouverymuch. Anyway, I'm not so big on being on the cutting edge of technology. I'm much more comfortable back here in the meaty part of the curve -- not showing off, not lagging behind.

Every single iPhone person I've ever talked to has said something to the affect of, "I love my iPhone. I could never go back to anything else." It's almost like they're all trained to say the same thing. I don't want to be like that. Next thing you know, they'll be like those Harley riders, who only wave at the other Harley riders. Oh, like you're so special because you have a motorcycle, you can't be bothered to wave at the lowly car people. (Just kiddin' bikers... really.)

Without realizing it, we've become a society divided into classes based on our cellular profile. You have the iPhone people, aka the Glitterati, followed by the Blackberryists. I'm not sure what you call us. Stubborn, perhaps. I prefer loyal. Then there are the rebel non-mainstream smartphone people -- Droids, Androids and the like. These are your 21st Century hippies.

Next are the non-smartphone people, the upper middle class of our techno-age caste system, who think a phone should be used for things like, oh I don't know, making a call. They probably think those of us who treat our smartphones as another appendage need to get out of the technology beltway and remember what it's like to, oh I don't know, speak to someone in person. Weird, I know.

The next classification would be people like my Mom, who only recently figured out how to send a text message. If you never learned how to program a VCR, you're likely to find yourself in this class.

Lastly, we have those who don't own a cell phone at all. These Tibetan-monks-of-technology have to rely on someone stopping to help them if their car breaks down, stop for directions if they get lost, and never have to worry about overage charges, texter's thumb, or anyone calling them when they're on vacation.

My friend LJ falls in this class. Although I found out today that he just got a DVR, which has me questioning everything I thought I knew about everything.

Who knows why these phone-Mennonites do what they do. Maybe there are religious reasons. Perhaps they just enjoy depriving themselves of things. Or maybe, just maybe, there is something deeper. Something the rest of us cannot understand.

Ah, but who has time to worry about such things? I have a new phone and I'm kind of addicted to Word Mole already.

My name is Bone, and I carry a Torch. You can reach me by email, text, AIM, Google Talk, Facebook, Blackberry Messenger, and... probably a lot of other ways that I haven't yet and likely never will learn how to use.

Kind of odd for a wannabe-hermit, don't ya think?

"And I'd have given anything to have my own Pac-Man game at home. I used to have to get a ride down to the arcade. Now I've got it on my phone..."

Independence Day in Nowhere, USA

Now that the 4th has passed, I know Summer is just biding its time. All the days pass with unsettling rapidity, but none so fast to me as these between the Fourth of July and Labor Day. Before I turn around, September will be here. And let's face it, no matter what the calendar says, September was never really Summer.

The big news around these parts this week has been all about Nephew Bone. Last Friday, with little warning but much fanfare, he began walking upright. At the age of 10 months and 13 days, Nephew Bone took his first steps. Now he bounds around for five, eight, ten steps at a time with a perpetual smile on his face like he just discovered bubble wrap. The sheer and utter joy he gets out of life is a continual lesson for me.

My 4th of July was pretty low-key. I mean, I didn't climb any national monuments to hang a protest banner if that's what you're after. I've actually never even painted anything on a water tower. It's one of the great shames of my life.

I spent the entire day in a tiny town where I had no cell phone service. None. Not even on a hill. It was the cell phone equivalent of absolute zero.

At first, I was a little perturbed that I wasn't going to be able to check and see how my fantasy baseball team was faring. But in the end it wound up being kinda nice. To be completely unconnected and unreachable for an entire day. What a novel concept. I could foresee this becoming a regular thing... again.

We spent the better part of Saturday's daylight hours canoeing. Nine miles. Five hours. Surprised? Well, you don't get arms like these by lifting the remote.

It was actually my first time canoeing. I think I did OK. I mean there were a couple of times when we were facing the wrong way. I seem to recall some other canoers riding by and laughing. Then at one point, we had to limbo under a tree that had fallen across the river and for a brief instant there I wondered if the Bone name would indeed live on. But overall, it was fun and I didn't injure anyone, at least not to the point that it required medical attention, so I deem it a qualified success.

Saturday night, I enjoyed a couple of corn dogs at the local park while taking in a softball game between the hometown American Legion team and what I took to be a team of alumni--a slightly-to-moderately overweight bunch calling themselves The Legends. After the game, there were fireworks. Literally, not figuratively.

It was good to spend the 4th of July in Small Town, USA. Good to see flags flying in yards and a few houses even decorated with red, white, and blue banners. I grew up in a town not a whole lot bigger than that. And I spent many of those days wondering what I was missing in some big city in some faraway place. Saturday night, I didn't feel like I was missing a thing.

"You could lie on a riverbank. Or paint your name on a water tank. Miscount all the beers you drank, back where I come from..."

The landline and Larry Wilcox

(My next big project for the new year--which will also be my first big project for the new year--is to update my blogroll. It seems quite a few of my blogrollees have stopped blogging, so I need to clean some of those out. If I don't currently link to your blog and you would like for me to, just leave me a note and I'll be glad to add you.)

We are gathered here today to commemorate the demise of the landline. Born in 1876 and continuing to the present day. It's been a good run. But let's face it. It's over.

Soon--if not already--the landline will be as relevant as Dick Cheney, a five-day forecast, or the other guy on CHiPs. Don't get me wrong. I loved CHiPs, to the point that before we had a VCR I would record the audio straight from the TV onto a cassette tape. (What? I was seven!) That notwithstanding, your co-star is Erik Estrada and you're referred to as the other guy? I mean, come on.

From "Watson, come here" to "Sarah, get me the courthouse" to the Charlie's Angels speakerphone, there have been many memorable landline moments down through the years. There was rotary dial, the first phone sex, dial up internet at 14400 bps, and the cordless phone to name a few.

In hindsight, it may have been the cordless phone that provided the first clue that we would one day no longer need the landline. Once we discovered we could get the voice from wall to phone without a cord, it was only a matter of time until we figured out how to get from phone to phone.

Is it any coincidence that the immense popularity and subsequent decline of the landline coincides with the rise and fall of the American economy? Well, actually it probably is.

Nevertheless, in the 1990's the stock market was booming and the landline was flourishing. Phone companies were adding features left and right, such as call waiting, caller ID, call block, call return, call forwarding, and three-way calling--which was a little too 'out there' for my tastes but some people liked it.

(Having never experienced a three-way, I do have questions. If two people who have three-way calling are on the phone and each of them call one other person, does it then become a four-way call? And could this go on indefinitely until finally you just had one big one-hundred-way telecommunications orgy?)

The landline introduced "star sixty-nine" into the daily vernacular. People were loading up their phones with three, four, five, ten features or more. Living it up like there was no tomorrow. Forwarding calls like it was going out of style, which turns out I guess it was. Soon there would be a price to pay for all this excess. And that price would be their monthly phone bill.

Then came the advent of the cell phone, and the landline began its gradual decline. Phone companies tried to save the landline. They offered to call people back when a busy line became available, for a nominal fee of seventy-five cents. That plan found only limited success however, as apparently most people didn't find it that difficult to, you know, simply hit redial.

In the long run, cell phones turned out to be more convenient, at least when you're not going through a dead zone, or at home. They were safer, well except for all that cancer stuff and a few car accidents. Most importantly, they eventually came with those cool little built-in cameras. And internet.

Once cell phones could take pictures and send emails, no one really gave a rip about the frequent dropped calls and mediocre sound quality. And the landline could no longer compete.

So today, we pay our respects to that great institution known as the landline. Our children and grandchildren may only ever see a landline in a history book or museum. But we shall share with them our fond memories of it, regaling them with tales of payphones, prank calls and three-ways. Much the same way that I have shared with you my fond memories of Larry Wilcox.

He's "the other guy" from CHiPs. And no, sadly, I didn't have to look that up.

"Mister Telephone Man, there's something wrong with my line. When I dial my baby's number, I get a click everytime..."

Your text is on my list

"How was your Christmas?"

The text message came as a surprise. I don't recall where I was when I got it. Work, maybe. As we texted back and forth a few times, I began to wonder how long it had been since I had heard from her. I wondered where she was and what she was doing. I wondered if I should read anything into her texting me, beyond just keeping in touch. And not least importantly, I wondered who she was.

That's because, though I've had my Blackberry Curve for two months, I've still yet to transfer the names and numbers from my old phone to it. Therefore, I had not the slightest idea who I was texting.

My last phone was so old, all I had to do was pick it up and say, "Sarah, get me the drug store." No, seriously. It was so old that the sim card wasn't compatible with the Blackberry. So the only way to get all my numbers on the Blackberry is to enter each one manually. Think of it as the technological equivalent of needing to transfer all my Tom Jones 8-tracks to iTunes. In both cases, I've yet to get around to it.

Cell phones have completely ruined me from remembering phone numbers. I feel lost now. I know like eight phone numbers, total. Even those I have begun to recognize, I mostly know only by the area code or prefix. I still couldn't dial the entire number from memory.

Incoming calls aren't so bad, as I can usually recognize someone's voice within the first five minutes of a conversation. But anytime a text comes in, unless it's one of the eight I've committed to memory, I sit staring at the ten digit sequence like it's one of those 3D pictures. And maybe if I squint a little harder and concentrate a bit more, the name that goes with the number will magically come to me. Which, by the way, is also pretty much how I approached most of my tests in college.

Texting has become like my own little game of 20 Questions. I send a series of fairly general, innocuous messages, until finally the other person unknowingly reveals some clue as to their identity. During football season, I would typically have two or three people texting "Roll Tide" to me before, during, and after games. To this day, I'm still not certain who a couple of those people were.

My call list on the Blackberry stores twenty numbers, and has become my ad hoc phone book. If you're not one of the last twenty people who have called me or who I've called, there's a decent chance I won't be able to contact you until you call me again and get your name back on the list.

Anyway, back to the conversation which inspired this post. The unknown "she" eventually sent a message asking, "What is ur address?" Still unsure who this person was and only knowing she had an out of state area code, I chose not to respond. I mean, as a semi-popular blogger, one can never be too careful, right?

About a week later, after a complex process of research and elimination, I finally figured out there was a 99.95% chance the mystery texter was Lil' Booty. (That's almost as good as a DNA match right there!) I called and gave her my address, and we shared a laugh.

And no worries about me getting all my numbers transferred onto the Blackberry. I've officially put that on my bucket list.

"Jenny, I've got your number. I need to make you mine. Jenny, don't change your number. 867-5309..."

Tragedy, technology, & tying knots

The dull edge became a little sharper last Thursday as I received my Blackberry Curve. It immediately becomes the most cutting edge piece of technology I own, followed by my iPod, and then next would be my... um... Remington PG-250 electric shaver, I guess.

Those in the know tell me that I should refer to it as a Crackberry. I can't wait to find out what that's all about. And the girls at the cell phone place had a nice laugh over my old phone, the discontinued Samsung P107 with the 0.1 megapixel camera, which left all my camera phone pictures looking like abstract impressionist paintings.

My excitement was short-lived, however, as tragedy struck my world Friday afternoon. Shortly before 3 PM, someone I have known for roughly twenty-five years suffered a massive heart attack.

That someone is Luke Spencer.

He was found on the floor of Windermere by Scott Baldwin's long lost son, Logan Hayes. As of today, Luke is still alive, but it is unlikely they'll be able to get him to a hospital because of the storm, so please keep him in your thoughts. More importantly, please keep me in your thoughts, because if Luke goes, I... well, I'd rather not think about it.

Remarkably, I was able to press on despite that weighing heavily on my heart. As a few of you may know, I was in a wedding Saturday. My longtime friend Kyle said goodbye to the ranks of singledom and hello to a brave new world. (I was going to say "My BFF Kyle" but guys don't really have BFF's. We just have buddies, or homeboys, or longtime confidants. Wonder why that is?)

During rehearsal, the wedding director repeatedly called me and the girl I escorted "professionals." I'm not sure I want to be known as a professional groomsman. Then again, why the heck not? Maybe I could make some extra cash on weekends, legally for a change.

It was great to see several friends that I had not seen in quite awhile. And hopefully, no footage of me "dancing" will turn up on YouTube. No, trust me, you think you want it, but you don't.

As the weekend was quite busy, I haven't had a lot of time to play with my Crackberry yet. Though I did finally figure out last night how to change the ring tone. That only took four days.

Technology rulz!

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get thru this thing called life. Electric word life. It means forever and that's a mighty long time. But I'm here to tell you, there's something else..."

The dull edge

Thanks to Jennifer and Traveling Chica for naming me a Thinking Blogger. That is definitely among the nicer things I have been called :)

As I've mentioned before, although maybe not in so many words, I tend to be on the trailing edge of technology. The dull edge, if you will. I just got my first iPod this past Christmas. I don't have a laptop. My TV is not hi-def. (Although my stereo may be hi-fi.) I don't have a DVR or TiVo. Even my watch is a Fossil.

Being on the dull edge of technology does not mean that I lag behind everyone. While I'm obviously not in the top one percentile of the techno-savvy, I do like to consider myself right in that meaty part of the curve. Not showing off, but not falling behind. Just consider me your typical C-student in the world of technology. Maybe C-minus.

Being on the dull edge means that when I see the latest, fastest, sharpest, neatest new gadget advertised, I don't think, "I've got to have that now!" Instead, I think, "Cool! I'll be getting one of those in two to ten years." After all, I've only had a DVD player for a couple of years. Still, when it's time to upgrade, it's time. And I'm afeared it's time for me to get a new cell phone.

How do I know? Well first, there's the 352 x 288 pixel resolution, which does not exactly provide the crystal clear imagery one might desire. Then there's the loud shutter sound the phone makes when taking a picture, which can sometimes be inconvenient, and also cannot be turned off. And of course, there was the fun phase I went thru a few months ago when almost everyone I called, I had to call twice, because I couldn't hear them on the first attempt. I affectionately refer to that as my Hollaback Phase.

Still, I've managed to deal with all those things. But recently I've encountered something that I fear cannot be overcome. Embarrassed by my lack of technology, I've noticed myself subtly covering up my phone anytime girls are around. Why? Would a girl really be turned off by my low resolution? I don't know. And I don't plan to find out. But I feel like I'm carrying around a bag phone. And I simply cannot face the world with a cell phone that I am ashamed of. The decision has been made.

Now, you should also know that being on the dull edge also means once a decision has been made that an upgrade is necessary, it can take up to twenty-four months until said techno-gadget is actually procured. But once that occurs, ladies, be sure to holla at a baller on his wicked fresh cellie!

In closing, my Samsung P-107 has served me well for the past three or four years. But there comes a point in every man's life when it's time to move on. For me that time is now... or, sometime in the next couple of years. I just hope I don't have to give up my "Sweet Child O Mine" ringtone.

"She's got eyes of the bluest skies, as if they thought of rain. I hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain..."