And the other part of my resistance is that cell phone companies are demonstrably evil. Certainly, this is only low-grade, petty larcency species of evil, more like a meth addict than a murderer, but I harbor a superstition that if I sign a contract and thereby enter into a "relationship" with a cell phone company, I'll probably wake up one day to find my stereo missing. (And in fact, in my last, abortive foray into cell phone territory, I paid $35 to learn that one carrier didn't work well where I lived, and over a hundred dollars for a few hours' call time on a phone that I returned within the grace period. I think I still have a balance of a few dollars with them, but without an open account I can't log in to pay it or dispute it.)

Cell phone companies, and the people who work at them, are evil in the banal way of Oracle salespeople, or Sony's Electronics division President Ken Kutaragi: they think that you should simply give them all of your money, and when you object, they honestly can't understand why.

So I tend to be incommunicado when I'm out and about, and that suits me well: when I'm not sitting at my desk, I generally don't want to call or be called anyway. And although I favor email over phones for many purposes and reasons, I also don't want a Blackberry; when I'm eating out, or riding my bicycle to the beach, or walking around the park, or seeing a movie, I just don't want to be in contact.

But I'm not so divorced from reality as to deny the utility of cell phones. When you're waiting for someone at the wrong restaurant, or contemplating a bent bicycle wheel on an isolated stretch of road, or wondering which movie theater to go to, a little remote contact isn't such a bad thing. And the other day, I had a conference call scheduled to begin at the same time I would be switching trains.

With several trips planned this summer, I decided to make a concession to convenience. I bought a "Virgin Mobile" prepaid cell phone. I picked it from three competing models because the service plans all seemed equally bad but Virgin had a cheaper phone ($30).

What I learned trying to activate the phone with the $20 prepaid card I also bought is that cell phone companies are pathologically averse to letting you use their precious networks without a close, personal relationship between their billing system and your bank account. When you activate the phone on their web site, you get a big, cluttered page about how to sign up with your credit card, and an itty bitty link to proceed if you have a prepaid minutes card. When the web site crashed and I had to call to finish activation, I had to twice decline to provide my credit card number, and the lady got fairly terse with me before we were done. And the terms of service are that you must add twenty dollars every three months (not maintain a $20 balance) or the phone goes inactive. Two months after that, all prepaid minutes expire and you must pay to reactivate it.

So I have a phone that costs twenty-five cents a minute (dropping to ten after ten minutes), presumably charges the same to receive phone calls, appears to round up seconds to the next minute, charges to access voicemail, and blackmails you to keep adding money. Great.

So my plan to use a cell phone without being infected by its evils:

1. Spend ten minutes to go through all of the menus (twice) and turn off every feature that may possibly make ring or otherwise make noise. Even so, it still chirps, loudly, if turned on or off while charging.
2. Pay an extra $2/mo to my regular phone company to redirect my home phone to the cell phone while I am travelling, so that I don't have to participate in cell phone culture to the extent of distributing a "mobile number."
3. When I'm not travelling, I'll remove the battery, throw the devil machine into a dark hole, and perform the appropriate cleansing rituals, such as waving a dead tofurky over my head and donating money to the EFF.