Well, try well here we are, site a few days older and what have we got to show for it? I got a futurephone! Now that I am able to communicate at any time, click with any person of my extensive acquaintance, I find I no longer have anything to say. Which sucks most of all for you, dear reader, because now you will be subject to photo captioning contests and endless top ten lists.

So far, holding the future in the palm of my wee hand has enabled me to play Zombie Farm at all hours of the day. Even while sleeping, my little rotted minions continue to faithfully tend the plots I have laid out, and I am reminded with a faint chime that the game is still scrupulously being played and it is time to bring in the sheaves of the undead. Braaaaains, indeed.

But it is not enough. My new little brainbox has a musical component that requires newer software than I have on my computer, newer software which requires a newer operating system than I have on my computer which requires that I back everything up, run an install disk, and hope for the best. I am going to go ahead and assume I am the only human who experiences deep duodenal terror at the prospect of such doings. What if all my stuff gets wiped out and my external drive melts in sympathy? What if my newly aphasiac machine is then unable to complete even the smallest transactions? Will my identity shrivel and disappear along with all those precious memories of me taking a photo of myself? Will I never stream the Jersey Shore again?