#go phone

[exquisitelypainful]

Do I try to make soup drunk... or do I sleep... I'm really hungry and I'm pretty sure I won't cut my fingers off.. but I'm also really comfy... and I'm just not sure what my best option is here cuz it's like really good soup... the struggle is real tonight

[pumpkaju]

anybody on the 25$ at&t go phone plan?

so I have a smartphone now but I don’t have a data plan (I only have the 25 dollar unlimited text/250 mins talk plan) and I don’t want to pay any extra hidden fees. I send a lot of picture texts though, and use wifi. what will happen? will I have to sell my belongings to eat in a few months? 

[carouselofswift]

how come I can never come up with clever text posts when taylors on !!!!!

[thomasruskinblog]

Private Investigation FAQs

 think my spouse has a “throw away phone” (also known as a go-phone), is there any way for me to get the phone records for that phone?  I think my spouse may be cheating and I want to see who they are talking to.

Chances are, no.  Most go-phones can be purchased at a convenience store and may not even have the owner’s name registered.  Proving your spouse has a throw away phone may be tricky.

As…

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[bigtapp]

Fixed my picture messaging on my iphone! All it took was the ability to manually cut a sim card to the right size, and a lot of patience and good timing.

[jessicalanglois]

Cell Phone Time Travel

Eventually—after you have your iPhone stolen twice in four months—you run out of people with old iPhone 3’s to get you through the summer until your upgrade comes around. (NB. The cell phone companies don’t differentiate between ‘lost’ and ‘stolen’, so neither do you.) That’s when you find yourself shuttled back to the early aughts by way of a tea cookie sized, number pad only GoPhone (think oldschool Nokia). You think it will be a fun little jaunt – a practice in asceticism that will later make you appreciate modern conveniences all the more!

But there are the Twitter withdrawals, the loss of Facebook and email. You realize you have no idea how to get to a new coffee shop or even your oldest friend’s house, and you have to plan ahead, writing directions down on the back of an envelope like it’s 2008.

You have no way to document the world around you anymore. Did that afternoon at the beach even happen without a camera phone to log it? You remember how you used to take pictures—with an eight hundred pound camera that requires a cord to upload. It’s all so cumbersome that you give up on photography all together, pretending like you are more evolved than all that. There are already SO many pictures of that artisan latte, of that adorable baby. Nobody wants to see that shit again. Can’t we just be happy with our memories, people? you implore as your tea cookie erupts in an electronica rendition of the Emperor Waltz. This little devil doesn’t masquerade as an old fashioned rotary phone or a submarine sonar.

It's never as scary or exciting as you hope it will be. It’s not the editor you’ve been avoiding, or the editor you’ve been hoping will call. It’s not your secret crush or your arch nem. It’s just an unidentified, neutral friend who starts chatting away like you have any idea who she is. Or, if you’re lucky, it’s a friend who has the presence of mind to know that anyone who doesn’t answer, “Oh, hey!” is in a Twilight Zone of phone correspondence and needs to identify herself pronto.

Worse than unknown callers are text messages of any kind. It takes you an entire BART ride to the city to multi-tap out a three sentence message on your nine-button keypad, only one word visible at a time on the fingernail screen. Predictive text (which requires a choreographed dance of no less than six menu selections to access) is too risky, too hegemonic and Anglo in its predictions. Back in 2005, you used to have super-speed thumbs and texts were three words, not three sentences. You boyfriend suggests you give up texting and upgrade to a stone and chisel plus a catapult.

But before all the Morse code texts and the swearing off of photography, something phenomenal happens between you and your featherweight GoPhone. You are walking to Berkeley Bowl and dial your mother’s number from memory. She answers and you press the tea cookie tight to your cheek to hear her voice through the tiny speakers. And all of a sudden it’s 2003 and you are crisscrossing Union Square in New York, before there was ever a Whole Foods at the south end of it. You’ve just gotten your first bean-shaped, sky blue and pearl white phone with a rinky tink jingle. You are talking to your mom back in California—and just the idea that you can be walking down the street and having a conversation with someone like you’re back in your dorm room makes you feel like you live in the future (Marty McFly’s 2015!), like you are the richest person in the world, like you are Evie Garland, a supernatural goddess, an alien princess.

Your mom’s voice floats into your ear from thousands of miles away and you bet you know just how Alexander Graham Bell felt. You are a part of magic happening. Just ten years ago, that magic was enough—a little robot that let you talk while moving, that let you check in with friends no matter where you were. It didn’t give you a satellite picture of the earth, or double as a camera or a Diskman. You look down at your twenty dollar tea cookie that’s holding the place of the seven hundred dollar slick, glass mini computer you used to carry, and as you fumble to unlock the keypad, you feel elated to be to connected, you feel so free.