Just kidding. My S.A.T. class still consumes all of my time, but it does not need to impinge on my writing style. Formalities and levity do not have to clash- they just need to be used properly, and at the right time.

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My cell phone is a bit antiquated. No camera function allows me to preserve memories in simple clicks. Instant messaging, video playback, and non-polyphonic music? I wish. Instead, the white T-Mobile model (I can’t really identify it) wistfully wishes to waste away. Scratch marks, predominantly from mid-air tosses, and drops, etch the entire face of my phone. An unsavory green dash has become comfortable on the navigation screen.

The phone “sucks.” Looking at other models, I can’t help but feel either less modern or affluent as others, and can only imagine how my phone pales in technological functions. People have flaunted their MP3-esque Sidekicks, and brandished their Razors in my face. “Want to borrow my phone,” they ask. I say sure, but deep down I’d very much like to steal the his or her communication contraption.

“Good” phones pocket themselves in family pockets. My mother’s and brother’s Razors’ glimmers outshines my T-whatever. Even my father, the most technologically primitive man on Earth, attempts to wield a bluetooth and a cellular communications device that can download images and videos from the Internet. Seeing him speak to the phone upside down, I want to say, “Stop abusing that phone. Hand it over.”

Needless to say, my T-Crapstick received its fair share of blunt trauma and Gitmo waterboarding. Eve after every collision with the sidewalk, or unintentional plunge in water, however, it unceasingly continues to process the numbers I dial, and call my mother for rides, or friends for homework assistance. That’s the basic function of it: to make calls. When cell phones became gilded with electronic embellishments is unknown to me, but I’m perfectly happy with a phone that resembles the exterior of a battered Egyptian pyramid.