Well friends, it is known that the rocky relationship between man and machine is no more everlasting than a ripe melon, and so it has come. The day that I must say goodbye to the handheld mobile device that has served me for almost four years. To my Nokia 8290 I dedicate this entry.

I still remember the day I went into the Powertel retail outlet, looking for a smaller, more stylish phone to replace the burly bastard I had been using. All I wanted was something that would fit in my pocket and ring loud enough that I could hear it. I could never have dreamed of the small box of advanced electronics that was peering at me from within the glass display case. Oh, I tried to go for the cheaper and slightly bigger model because it was more practical, but you seduced me with your custom ring tones, voice dialing, and included belt holster. It wasn’t long before practicality was foregone in favor of blinking green lights and a streamlined blue case. I still remember the new phone smell that permeated my car as I rushed to free you from your thermal formed prison and jam that kickass headset in my ear. We had great times, you and I. I remember laughing with you for hours when we’d call the sperm bank and ask in a gurgly voice where to make a deposit. The time we phoned in that fake bomb threat turned out to be a bad idea, but you hooked up with that hot little palm pilot in the evidence room while I spent the night in jail, so it wasn’t a total loss.

We had our share of problems, too. After having you for less than a month, you slid off my leg in the car on a drive through Arizona and landed in my big gulp. I almost wrecked the car fishing you out of your carbonated grave and taking you apart in an effort to save your life. You were never the same after that, although I swear it was an accident. Your display only worked some of the time, the “4” key was all sticky, and you would power down for no reason. After about a year, I thought I had been forgiven, but I know you never forgot. The subsequent times I dropped you didn’t help my image in your eyes, either.

Battle scars aside; you served me well, and seemed to enjoy playing little jokes on me. I would slam you against the wall sometimes when you shut off while I was talking to someone, and you always knew just when to lose a signal. I’d say something offensive to someone in a joking manner, and before I could tell them I was kidding, you’d beep four times and I’d go absolutely insane with anger. I lost several girlfriends because of you. I thought I hated you then, but in retrospect I see at all as part of a complex and beautiful relationship. You were protecting me from the psychotic women I was dating. I know you were scared when I rolled down the window and motioned to throw you onto the highway, but you knew I wouldn’t let go of you. I did pound you on the steering wheel to the very limits of your design specs, but I loved you just the same.

You always enjoyed ringing when I was flying and very busy, and your vibrating alert would make me jump out of my seat, causing me to look like an ass. You logged as many flight hours as I have, as a matter of fact. Your Knight Rider ring tone will always live in the memories of all of my friends as the coolest ring tone. Ever.

Earlier this year, your parts started wearing out and I knew our time was almost up. Your LCD screen showed characters and words that don’t exist in any language, and I told myself that you were communicating with an advanced race of space men. Your blue faceplate was cracked and wouldn’t stay on very well. The battery hatch soon followed, but was remedied with seven inches of duct tape. People called you such insensitive things as the Nokia 800 white trash series, and those words hurt us both, but we persevered. I eventually jokingly fashioned you an external “rabbit ears” antenna out of a coat hangar and a strip of aluminum foil. We sure had some fun with that.

Yesterday I took you off the charger and your battery only held a charge long enough for me to get to work. I tried to make a call and your garbled display said “34*~ ::: “, and had only one bar showing over the battery indicator. I took this as a plea for mercy, and with tears in my eyes; I pushed your power button for what I knew was the last time. As your display blinked and went silent, I recognized the end of an era. I unwrapped the silver duct tape from your lifeless form and removed your memory card for future placement in another phone. Without the card, you are but a shell of the phone I once knew, and you will rest peacefully in the top drawer of my desk until arrangements can be made to respectfully dispose of you.

On the drive home last night, my temporary replacement phone rang, and it sounded as foreign to me as that Indian guy who always used to dial my number and say something I couldn’t understand. Now I know, you will be substituted, but never replaced.

*cue Elton John’s “Candle in the Wind”*

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