Oh, my little Sanyo cell phone with the lousy low-res built-in camera, how I’ve loved you. You have your little quick Web button that I could push so easily and connect to my site from anywhere. Never mind that your buttons were too small to write anything of note, I loved you. I loved that you came with Mobi TV and that I could watch CNN from the Oyster Bar at the Copley Plaza. I loved that my mother was so impressed by you. I love that you took over eight hundred pictures for me and of me and of friends and places I went and uploaded each one, lovingly and allowed me to change them and edit them with all of your cool and groovy features.
You had that folded grace that only flip cell phones can have. Those hard, upright phones will never know the bend-in-half grace of a flipper like you, the way you fold, silver toned, like a ballerina stretching before the show. The way I could just casually flip you open and almost say, “Moulder, it’s me…” and pretend I was Scully on the X Files. So cool. Only you allowed me this and I will never forget the times we have had together, sending naughty text messages to my husband, sending pretty photographs to Mummy, sending instant messages through MSN Messenger to my work friends because only you allowed MSN. You were the first – You and Sprint had made my life so much easier. You even had a speaker button, so it was as if you were speaking to me. I remember dialing in audioblogs and hearing the prompts through your speaker before I read my last poem, How to Peel an Apple – the very last poem I would ever blog through you. How it brings tears to my eyes that never again will we share a poem between us.
All because the other day, while I was working on an article and sitting on the bed with my laptop, my twenty-pound tortoiseshell cat stepped on your beautiful, full-color screen and when I looked to you to upload some new photographs I had just taken, the screen was cracked into a thousand shards and the buttons had all gone dead. You made no sound when I pushed your “go” button. NO beep. Just silence. And your face – all cracked like that. You looked so sad, but you were gone. There was no saving you, though I tried. I shut you off, on, off on, off, on, off, on, I even took out your battery and blew on it as if by some magic I could bring you back to life, but alas, no. You had gone. Left the building. Little Sanyo, you had died and I was alone.
So there I was. No phone. NO camera, and none of my friend’s numbers before me for they were all inside your little body with the broken screen and therefore irretrievable forever. I had never written them down anywhere else and I realized after you had died that I will have to write to everyone I know to get their contact information.
I admit, as much as I loved you, I knew that life would have to go on and that I would have to try, somehow, to replace you. I went to the Sprint Web site, because you see, I could not wait til the next day to go to a shop. I had been to shops before and all too often, they had ran out of merchandise that I wanted, especially camera phones like you – so sleek and desirable. So silver with the blue backlight. What could be sexier? Only the razor phone came close, but in that price range, who does he think he is? Come on. Even Richard Gere would be less for a night if he charged. No. No razor phone for me, as much as I admired its sleek lines, I also know an overpriced item when I see one.
I would stick with my little Sanyo camera phones from Sprint. I sought another out, but none were like you. Oh, they had newer models, I should tell you. And I am sorry to say, there was one that was even sleeker than you. OR so it seemed from the picture and I clicked on it and read about its functions. I even watched the flash demo about what it could do and it could do everything you could it said, but more! Imagine, you had only died a few hours ago and here I was trying to replace you and I have to say, I clicked “Add to Basket” and I never looked back.
Yes, I looked at several varieties of phone, and this one looked most like you, so in this way, little Sanyo, you will be remembered. This new phone, though he has not arrived yet, will be like your cousin visiting from a foreign country and I promise to treat him as well as I would any company. I promise as well, to as usual, ignore regular human company in favor of my technological gadgets because you have been there for me through thick and thin and while I love my friends dearly, they are often late and they forget things or are not always available right away. You on the other hand are always ready when I am. We were never apart and you never let me down, even when I lived in my little apartment right on the ocean front, you had at least three bars or more and I could make a clear call to my attorney or my office without problem of reception. Why, you even worked on planes. None of my friends traveled as well as you did, for they were often moody and non-receptive. Not you. Always you were receptive and always, you made an effort. I’ll never forget your little “Searching for service” message which never lasted too long because you always found a way to get me hooked up.
Now, I await the post man or the UPS man or however your little flip cousin is being delivered. I know that his camera feature has a zoom function of 5x or so and that you can also edit and crop the photos right on the phone – a feature you never had, though that’s okay because we used Photoshop together.
I will mourn you, no doubt, little Sanyo, but I must greet the future. For the past week, I have been without a cell phone and I cannot tell you how difficult this has been for me. What ever did we do in the days before cell phones, before camera phones? What did I do when I wanted to call someone or take a photo? Did I really have to find a payphone or wait a week or even an hour for my photos? How absurd! What an outrage when I can get my photos immediately and send them direct to my HP PSC 2355 all in one and get photos right away and then if I want, fax them around the world or scan then. I can upload photos direct to my blogs – selecting which blog – I can send photos to friends or to their blogs even. I can even send photos to my friend Andre in Paris where he will edit them and then upload them to his blog. Imagine the possibilities.
Now, I can zoom in on things, I can zoom and call and dial and photograph and surf and message and IM and email and watch TV and listen to music and all those things on my sleek new phone, but first, I must have some human contact to regain all of that information from our human friends – their emails, phone numbers, my blogging address and the like. It will be hard to have so much human contact, and will have to spend hours leaning over you, pressing your little silver buttons to reload the information again, which I admit, will be a drag. But in this way, we become acquainted. I will get to know you, my new little silver love, the cousin of my first.
I imagine you as a long lost relative from France or Italy, though I think in reality you are from Japan. Still, you look French or Italian to me, with your colorful and expressive square face, your hazel-green or electric-blue background lit eyes, your funny ring tone accent that has everyone reaching for their phone. The many languages you can speak –oh, I cannot wait for you to arrive.
I can’t wait to select ring tones together, to assign special tones to our human friends, even photographs of them when we see them. How I will integrate you into my life and how again, my friends will become annoyed that I ignore them in favor of you, how I answer your subtle, European ring tone call even in restaurants and shops because you always have news – and often, it is good news. And now, since you are the number on my resume, you are my last great hope.
One day, you will bear the news of a new job and I cannot wait to hear it – I cannot wait a s I sit and wonder which ring, where will I be, and as I flip open the phone and my friends give me that look, and someone on the other end says, You’re hired, I will know it is only through you that I could receive such good and happy news.