I want it but I sure don't need it

Droid. I want a Droid. Not the robotic kind that can be helpful good, bad, or flat-out evil as presented by our friends at Lucasfilm Ltd., but the kind that my cell phone company, Verizon, keeps trying to use as a tool of seduction.

Gadgets thrill me. Except for a distinct lack of cash, I'd be a technology early adopter again and again. Cable TV, interactive services, and the Internet were made with people like me in mind. As were cell phones (I've had one since 1991--yes, almost 20 years), recording devices, cameras, cameras that do cool things, regular phones that do cool things, Bluetooth, iPods, digital photo frames, wireless speakers, satellite radio, and whatever the next cool thing is that tickles my fancy.

Right now, it's anything Droid. I lust. I stare. I just don't need it--and on so many levels.

My phone is over two years old (I still have my 1991 phone, by the way, as well as every cell phone I have owned since, accessories included). I bought it while I was deep in the throes of shingles, and the memory of quite literally sweating out the wait for a sales helper at the Verizon store still makes my T4 dorsal root ganglion twitch. At the time, my phone was a slick, state-of-the art piece of technology wrapped in a stainless steel shell and it gave me goosebumps. Now, I wonder, have we just become too familiar?

The Droid is sexy. It's clever and smart and fun and all around the perfect date. Of course, I said that about my current phone when I bought it (and blogged about it--just look back in March 2008). There is absolutley nothing wrong with my phone that buying a new battery wouldn't cure. The truth is, I rarely use my phone. My husband and I have 400 shared mintes per month, and it's a rare occurrence, indeed, if we use 90 of them between us. That includes my attempts to check email and Facebook during boring meetings. I've lost the will to talk to people on the phone, but having the Internet and Apps in my hand is like giving a drunk the keys to the liquor store.

Still, a Droid would cost me $200, plus I'd have to jack up my monthly Verizon bill another $30, at least, just to meet Verizon's crack-dealer demands for this product.

My phone is great. The sound quality is outstanding--and that's the main reason I bought it. In fact, having a phone when I need one is the whole reason I got a cell phone in 1991 and the reason I have one now. A phone with the acoustics of a styrofoam cup would be missing the point. Sure, it may be turned off most of the time, and I forget to check for messages, but it's there when I need it, and when I need it, it's a reliable phone with excellent audio qualities.

I have no idea what the Droid sounds like. Right now, I'm all about its brains and beauty. And the internet. And Apps.

I am so shallow. I am so tempeted by the fruit of another...



Landscaping. Jeep tires. Sofa. Shoes with good arch support. Eye doctor. Yeah, yeah.