this isn't actually the first time a cell phone has died on me. The first one croaked during the better way village. The second in a random monsoon that descended upon new haven while i was walking to the union office in early august of 2003. But I've had this phone (a nokia 3560 in an advanced state of decrepitude) in particular the longest, and for the sake of this argument (and since i'm moving to GSM service from digital, lets assume that these four different phones were in fact one.)
Until 2001 or 2002, i hated cell phones and i hated the people who used them for using them, for the most part. They were obnoxious, self involved, carcinogenic, and intrusive. Having a cell phone signified that you thought you were more important than me and/or you had/wished you had a more active social life. (The latter would not have been particularly difficult.) I would mock my dad when he used his and shake my head in exasperation at the cell-crazed USAYistas on a semiregular basis. Even during the UOC's frenetic first year, until after the march strike, i did all my organizing calls from landlines and pay phones, though the fact that Alek and Julie and Abbey -- and later K -- all had cell phones was obviously extremely convenient for me. This generally worked unless i was trying to get in touch with Thomas, who also didn't have a cell phone, or i needed to be readily available, like when i was writing this in the SML reference room and had to check my email every three minutes or so to make sure i wasn't horribly off-message.
During the strike i decided i was not going to go into any struck buildings unless i absolutely needed to. This meant that most - actually all - of the pay phones i had frequented were now off-limits. That meant i had to make organizing calls from home, and i was rarely there, spending my time mostly on picket lines or otherwise running around like a headles chicken or frantically writing a paper for Alicia's class or stupidly trying to give the TRASH people a guilt trip. So i couldn't do the organizing i needed to do, and i didn't find out about some stuff i needed to have known about until it was ex post facto. That was when i got a cell phone - it came in the mail and i picked it up from my parents place when i was in NYC for a few days over spring break. It very quiclky became a new appendage. Grace (self-reflexively) referred to cell phone users as cyborgs, and the analogy seemed entirely appropriate. I realized i could use my cell phone to scream at abbey and alek over the BWV, make julie crazy, and all the other things i liked to do with cell phones, like make elaborate firm and toned jokes. During the summer, when i was coordinating, with thomas and others, the student committee, the cell proved indispensable, which is why it really sucked when it broke. It helped me stay in touch when others were all over the place doing all kinds of stuff and keep everyone abreast of developments in New Haven, like when Rev Kimber made his now notorious phone calls or Culver "decided to spend more time with his family" or Claudia Merson said we weren't helping. Or when Saqib and i went on a wild goose chase for emma goldman's grave in the chicago suburbs. Oh wait, never mind. Sometimes i hated my cell phone, but on the whole i was and am glad i had it. And yet, in Paul Westerberg's words, i found myself wondering "how do you say 'it's okay' to an answering machine?" -- There were moments when (and i may be luddite or essentialist here) i felt like i couldn't communicate anything but empty platitudes when more was required. And it couldn't save me in Hershey, Pennsylvania when i realized i was going back to my parents' apartment and not even Julie's car's repeated breakdowns could stop that inexorable drive toward obsolescence, so i hurled it into some gravel. (Sorry cell phone, sorry Julie.)
Anyway, my cell phone died at like 4 PM in a pool of slush on the northeast corner of 79th street and riverside drive. I hope the new one has as exciting and rich a lifespan as the old one. yeah, anthropomorphism! Ave atque vale.
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