So sometime yesterday, my Treo 600 up and went mute. Sure, I can get and make calls, but the mic is dead. I can hear you; you can’t hear me. Add to this the long deceased polyphonic ringer and the shitty condition of the camera, and you can guess how pissed I am for not springing for the insurance when I had the chance. But being without a cell phone while on the road has rendered me digitally impotent. I’m a road warrior with a flat.

So I had to run to CompUSA to replace it. $550. I so didn’t need that hit to the wallet. I would have considered a basic phone, but even the entry phones at Sprint are $200 for a replacement. With more than a thousand contacts loaded into this little bastard and the easy access to the Internet an instant pick-me-up for my blog habit, I’m petty much hooked. Two hours without it and I’m ready to blow that Verizon guy for a fix. Can you hear me now, bitch!

So I’m walking down Michigan Avenue in Chicago, and it’s so cold I can feel the pavement sucking my soul out through my shoes. But the sun is shining, and I’m listening to my angry mix on my iPod. And dammit, after dropping half a “g” to replace a cell phone for a job I’m about to leave, I’m pretty pissed off. But in a real Yuppie scum kinda way. I got a head full of Tupac and Rage and Slim and Chuck D, and I’m feeling like a badass. Well, as bad as I can feel with a tube of Burt’s Bees in my pocket and a pair of soft leather Ecco bowling shoes.

I’m gonna go crank some DMX and go get a henna tattoo or something.