Was: I Hate My Life
Was Also: I Love My Life
I lost my Sidekick LX on Saturday. It’s pretty much the worst thing that has happened to me since I left New York. When my friend and I discovered that it was missing, we called the Satellite, where we’d been all night (obviously) and every cab company incessantly. We tried calling the phone, of course, but it was either silenced or thrown into the street because of the obnoxious Junior Vasquez dance party ringtone.
I was worried also that my phone might not be lost or broken in the middle of the street, but stolen, which could be even worse than simply not having it. Some random (or not-so-random?) loser out there can now get in touch with every friend, relative, coworker, doctor, one-night stand, massage therapist, business contact, and total stranger I’ve ever had. He can read all my email from the past year, so he knows what I’ve been working on and how much I charge. He can log into my AIM account and talk to anyone as if he were me. He has my bank info, my doctor info, my juicy friend gossip. He has my random thoughts, shitty writing project ideas, shopping list, bike research, movie rentals…
In my frazzled state, I tried to convince myself that I’m really not that important or interesting, and it’s unlikely that someone would go out of their way to take my phone and search it for valuable information. My friends consoled me, and I consoled myself, agreeing that it might turn up.
I spent the next day wallowing in my own misery, taking sleeping pills and suffering the consequences of my usual series of Saturday-night-bad-decision-making. Every now and then, I feel so ill that I am actually convinced that I may be on the brink of death and nothing short of a visit to the emergency room will curb my impending doom. I never end up going; it just feels like I should.
I was still feeling shaky when I woke up Monday morning. I rolled over, turned on a laptop to see what time it was, and began getting ready for work. Normally, the alarm feature on my phone would wake me, but that’s gone.
As I got ready, I started thinking about the things I needed to do that week and wanted to make a to-do list. I very much enjoyed the notes feature on my phone for jotting down my intentions, but had to revert to my small spiral dinosaur notebook and hope that I would remember having made the list so I could try to accomplish some of its items before it became obsolete.
My phone also served as my non-exercise mp3 player, so I had to bring my shuffles to work with me. It’s great for exercise, but I like having a display for my commute so I can choose specific songs. Also, I’ve been “reading” The Audacity of Hope on cd/mp3, which is not a shuffle-friendly activity.
So I silently cursed the free world for my whole hour-long commute, not having a book or anything to play with. I’m sure I saw a million cool things that I wanted to take a picture of, but my phone was also a camera, and it’s not worth it to bring my 5-year-old brick of a digicam everywhere “just in case.”
My phone also served as my clock, so I spent most of the day not knowing what time it was. I dug up my analog watch to wear on Tuesday, at which time I was promptly and rightly made fun of.
Every second I spent without my phone, I slipped further and further into the Dark Ages. I had purchased an actual book to read on my commute, I was using pen and paper to record everything (I have a terrible memory), I was wearing a watch. Next thing you know, I was going to be walking around carrying a parasol, wearing long Victorian dresses, and declaring, “I say!” every time someone made a ghastly remark.
This had to stop.
On Wednesday, I took the plunge. I accepted that there was no hope of recovering my lost phone and went into the depths of Hell (a T-Mobile store) in hopes to preserve what was left of my bleak and pathetic life. This was a moment I have always dreaded—being at the mercy of some shit-talking sales punk who feels smart because he can rattle off cell phone features and rob me blind at the same time. I hate those kids and every bone in their sniveling little bodies.
Thanks to a coworker and a nearly liquid lunch, I got a G1, the new Google phone that has been out for a week. The stars realigned, there was peace in the Middle East, and my life was good again.
My phone is fucking rad and you are all jealous of me. Here’s why:
1. It’s faster than the iPhone.
2. It’s a tri-band GSM phone so I can use it when I go to Asia.
3. The camera is better than my actual digital camera (3.0 megapixel).
4. I can watch YouTube videos.
5. OMG TEH GOOGLES. Before I sort of lived on Gchat, and now I really live on Gchat. I use Gmail, I read Gdocs, I love Gmaps, I belong to Ggroups, and I am straight-up illin, G-Money… what?
However, some things about it suck:
1. There’s no separate headphone jack, so I have to use the provided USB headphones.
2. The dialer interface is not as easy to use for simple operations like managing voice mail messages and adding contacts from your call log. I may just need to play with it some more.
3. It’s a touch screen, and parts of it get touched that shouldn’t be, which makes me feel like an irresponsible, jail-bound citizen.
4. The browser display isn’t formatted, so I have to scroll sideways. I don’t like doing that.
5. The bill will be a little higher than my Sidekick bill.
But still. Gchat.
I guess I should have expected there to be pros and cons. I’m still discovering more as time goes by. My biggest issue now is pulling my contact list off the Danger server. I don’t have anyone’s number right now unless they’ve called me, and even then, without a discernable area code, I don’t know who’s who.
At the moment, I’m just happy to have a phone again, and I’m thrilled it’s not the busted Nokia I was using between Sidekicks for the better part of a year. But I’m also working for a living again, so there’s that…