Roughly around the same time the new one arrived via Fed Ex, BlackBerry itself experienced some sort of international outage. So I had to wait til this morning to take it to the store, and hope either Lucas or Russell was working (the two lone BlackBerry holdouts in an
Right after they opened, I took my seat on the floor (none of these places have fainting couches) and waited. Patiently. I could've just put my name in and gone shopping til they called me, but the only two options in that shopping center were the Hooker store (you can't buy actual hookers there -- just stuff they'd wear), and a bakery I shouldn't really be allowed in when I'm all weak and vulnerable. Pal Bluebelle pictured me quietly weaving a corn broom in the corner while singing Shaker hymns ("tis a gift to be simple" and all), and yeah, it was pretty much just like that. My much more technologically advanced BFF is probably a little sick of the endless cycle of codependence between me and RIM (Research In Motion? uh huh. Exactly) and suggested I just join the BlackBerry of the month club. (She also asked if it was possible -- possible -- that trackballs, like vibrators, could simply be worn out? Not that either of us had any experience of the latter -- but I figure a trackball oughtta at least have the equivalent lifespan of my computer's mouse, and I haven't exhausted one of those yet.)
Mostly I was just trying to retrieve a few photos despite the crippled trackball and email them to my gmail for preservation -- which is why poor Lucas was greeted by the above pic of Rick Springfield when he disassembled the handset. I started to explain (I had planned to write a funny column about Californication "destroy me Rick Springfield!" and just hadn't gotten around to it)... but six BlackBerries later, Lucas has seen it all... my porn bookmarks, my Tiger Texts, and the idiosyncrasies of my rolodex (filled with names like "Asshole" and "Don't Answer"). He just gave me a reassuring look that managed to say "shhh baby, just leave it all to me."
He showed me the next-generation Bold, which I promptly hated -- as he predicted I would -- instead of fixing the trackball design flaw, they've just replaced it with a 19th century trackpad that clearly came over on the Ark.
Could they work any harder to try to convert me to