I bought the simplest cell phone possible. No contract. No TV screen. No text messaging. I have a prepay account to avoid a huge monthly bill. After an hour of instruction from the pre-teen saleswoman at T-Mobile, I went home and charged it. I was not charged, however, when the telephone started playing some dreadful hip-hop song (I had asked the saleswoman to program it to ring like an old fashioned Bell phone). It took a half hour of pushing every tiny button (too tiny for my big fingers) to see that I had a voice message. After another hour of pressing the miniscule buttons, I heard someone desperate to talk to Mary. There were options indicated: I could call the number back, I could save the message, or I could delete it. I hit delete. It was no use. It replayed the message. I trekked back to T-Mobile. Another pre-teen clerk walked me through answering the phone, hearing my voice mail, as well as deleting or saving. I was assured that it was so simple any kid could use it.

OMG.

I had sent emails to my associates and friends and family begging them to call me on my home phone, which is now called a landline. But they insisted I get with the program. Each one assured me that one couldn't function without a cell phone. Most suggested I get a Blackberry instead. The Blackberry would let me watch TV, tape shows to watch later, listen to over 59,000 songs, and even hold a ten-year calendar of important things I had to do. I countered that until a Blackberry could play Monopoly or read Tarot cards of perform Ouija board predictions, I'd wait and stick with my simple prepay phone.