I just called to say "I love you." But nothing more. I don't have enough minutes.

Back when I worked for a particular company...that makes a particular product that one would apply to one's...well...junk prior to intercourse, I was required to scour the internets for any mention of this particular brand. I stumbled upon hundreds (literally, hundreds) of ridiculous and irrelevant postings that merely mentioned this brand in passing. Sometimes I came across poems and stories (oh lord, the stories) and reviews about the products made by this brand. This would have been a fairly entertaining way to spend my Friday afternoons, had I not been required to compile the previous week's postings into a report, which I sent over to the client before the end of the day. I would be sitting there at 7:30 on a Friday night, cutting and pasting some 16 year old kid's story about doing his white trash girlfriend while the bright lights of Times Square just beyond the windows illuminated what was now a completely empty office (aside from myself and the Russian cleaning ladies). Terrific. Anyway, I'm not going to say the brand name (I'm sure you can figure it out) because a.) I don't want any former co-workers finding this blog and b.) I don't want them to have to cut and paste this meaningless post into a report just because I mentioned them.

My point? Ah yes. The guy cowering in his trailer with a shotgun and a homemade foil hat on his head is onto something. They are watching us. Companies comb the blogs. They read the message boards. They pay attention. This can be a good thing. The aforementioned company learned that people incorrectly assume their products are "thicker and baggier" even though they aren't, and they also thought enough of the outcry in the gay community about the male and female silhouettes on the box that they removed them from their packaging.

Anyway, I work for another company now. This company makes things. The thing you're reading this blog on? They make those. The thing you listen to when you're jogging or walking home? They make those. They've also starting making the things you send text messages with. You can also use these to make calls. And they're giving me one. A good one. A top-of-the-line...uh...one. And I'm getting it tomorrow! This thrills me. If you've seen the phone (oh, crap, I said "phone") I'm using now, you know it's a three and a half year old piece of shit that T-Mobile gave me for free when I signed up. This has easily been the best cell phone I've ever owned. Really. It's so shitty that it doesn't even have a vibrate function. It can't take pictures. It runs out of storage room after 50 text messages. It's hard to hear. But. It's solid. I don't think I've owned anything for three and a half years without having it break. So I'm a little apprehensive about moving from my dependable ol' brick to the sophisticated, possibly delicate super-gadget with lots and lots of microchips and antennae and a glass touch screen. I'm worried. Because I'm sort of an ogre and can't have nice things. However. This may be the greatest cell phone upgrade in the history of the free world, and who am I to prevent such a monumental transition?

So tomorrow, I'm picking it up. And plugging it in. And signing up for two years. Fingers crossed.

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