I want an iPhone.
Yes, they’re $600.
Yes, I still have a year and a half left on this contract with Sprint, which I signed in a fit of pique after getting jerked around by a Cingular sales rep with an attitude problem.
Yes, my phone already has a half-dozen different ringtones and a built-in Dayrunner.
Yes, I passed up the chance to buy a Blackberry last summer after realizing the service plans were $80 a month or more.
I don’t care.
There’s something charming about a phone that thinks it’s an iMac, and I’m willing to pay stupid money to own one.