January 10, 2008
Rise Of The Machines, Chapter 3,425
NP: David Bowie, Reality
Now my phone is dead. The phone part, anyway, but the PDA part seems to be dying as well, I think. I would add that, if you need to get a hold of me before tomorrow, when I should get the replacement (still under warranty, which would be fortunate if it wasn't for the inconvenient fact that I now have a nice little paperweight), you should e-mail or call my home number, but this actually happened a day and a half ago, and I haven't gotten a single voice mail message since then anyway.
So from a communications standpoint, not so much of a big deal. From the ever-present war with the machines, though, it's the opening of a new front.
Why does technology hate me so much? What did I ever do to it to deserve such treatment?
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