Saturday, 18 August 2012

Even gods have to evolve...

CAUTION: Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.

Nokia, Nokia, Samsung. Nokia, Samsung, Samsung, Sony.

So I've done it. After resisting the urge for a few years, I've finally got me one of those Smart Telephones, as I believe the kids are calling them (Not pictured. Clearly). Given the eyebrows that I've raised by my insistence of using a phone with buttons on it (it may as well have a dial, grandad), I've switched to what is essentially a battery-draining TFT screen which will be perpetually covered in fingerprint-grease. Android, if you're interested.

I've been pestered by friends and contemporaries for a long time now, usually with the dangling carrot of 'It does Facebook, and we know you like Facebook!'. So does my computer, and that has an actual keyboard, thanks (this is also why I don't have an iPad). The real reason behind the move isn't the functionality of the handset, but the ridiculous Pay-and-Go tariff I was on. So I'm on a contract now, and with that I get a handheld screen so that I can check in to places to save my stalkers some time/effort, and share polaroid-style photos of sunsets and whatever it is I'm about to eat*1.

Anyway, it occurred to me that I don't consider myself to be someone who's constantly switching phones, and yet there they all are. The new one's my eighth phone in about ten years, which isn't a fantastic track record. The three Nokia sets I've used have been functional, hard-wearing and had excellent signal reception. The three Samsungs have failed on each of those levels. The Sony was somewhere in the middle; a good phone but I couldn't get on with the interface.

Oh yeah, you can only see two Samsungs in that picture. I'm afraid the D900 didn't make the grade. Although I do have a photo of it.

The Samsung D900. Not heat-resistant.

It turns out the Samsung D900 has poor heat-resistance. And poor drill-resistance. Who knew?
Sleep well, number five. May flights of demons wing you to your rest.

Oh, you're welcome.

*1 Oh, come on. Instagrams are like children. Other people's are annoying, even though you think your own are the best thing in the world. And I include myself in that. I'm not really that grumpy about the whole thing, but spending ten minutes on your Facebook news-feed will illustrate my point.

• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.

• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

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