I was so excited when I got my Treo a few years ago, but time has not been kind. I need a new phone. Badly. While virtually everyone I work with has an iPhone or a reasonable facsimile of an iPhone, I'm saddled with this comparative antique that can barely pull up Gmail without exploding.

So I've been casually researching new phones, but there are some problems. One, I'm locked into a long term Sprint contract, and though I'm sure I can buy or complain my way out of that contract, I doubt I'll put in the money or effort needed to do so. This means I'm limited to whatever phones are available through Sprint, immediately knocking some of the obvious choices out of contention.

Two, I'm a tech idiot. Seriously. Total dinosaur. For someone who had a website up and running with all kinds of bells and whistles in the days before white bread came with URLs on the packages, it's incredible how behind the times I am with anything techy. Like, when I need a new computer, as people like me seem to need fairly often, my buying process consists of driving to Best Buy, looking around for three minutes, and saying "that one." (This is how I ended up with my current HP TouchSmart -- a computer built around a touchscreen gimmick that I absolutely don't need nor have I ever used. In fact, only after months was I reminded that it even had that capability, when a fly landed directly on the "X" in Firefox and closed me out.) I don't do Blu-ray, I don't have a Tivo, I suck.

But this phone upgrade has to happen. Work trends are changing. When I got my Treo, I only needed to be able to send one-line e-mails when I was trapped on three hour bus rides. Now, more is expected. My days with this phone are numbered.

Saying goodbye to a cell phone is never easy, because it's a safe bet that most of what you saved on that phone is going to go with it. Even if there is a way to safely transfer the contents of one phone to another, you must remember that such exercises would be ones of futility for a tech moron like myself.

Mostly, I hate losing all of the photos. There is an imbecilic intimacy to photos taken with one's phone, and as a person who finds it hard to throw away grocery receipts if I had a nice time shopping, it's only natural that I can't easily bid farewell to grainy photos of street signs and my cats.

Thus! As I did before ditching my previous phone, I'd like to get some of the Treo's photos on the site, where I can cherish them forever, and get out of having to think up a more reasonable topic for a blog post.

Below are seven photos that, somehow, seemed to be worth saving.

This is Kitten. Officially, her name is Saturn, but we never call her that, and the name "Saturn" only comes into play during vet visits -- because we don't want to seem like the kind of pet parents who would name their cat "Kitten." (If you'll recall, we also have a cat named "Gray Cat.")

I guess Kitten is around seven years old. During the adoption process, we narrowed the choices down to her, and an adorable orange-and-white kitty of the same age and possibly from the same litter.

I chose Kitten because I went into the place thinking, "I want a gray cat." (Not to be confused with THE "Gray Cat," who we hadn't adopted yet.) I ignored the warning signs. Kitten, who was tiny at the time, spent our first meeting chewing on my hand in the same way a survivalist would chew his reserve supply of jerky after spending an exhausting and unsuccessful day foraging for nuts. The orange-and-white cat, on the other hand, practically made out with me.

How Kitten got the nod, I will never comprehend. Keep in mind, I don't consider our decision a mistake. We love Kitten. But she's the meanest cat in cat history, whose idea of "holding back" is biting you for only 15 seconds instead of the usual 75. I'd say she's a boy cat trapped in a girl cat's body, but we have boy cats, and they've never tried to murder me. Kitten has, and will continue to do so.

Someone in the last thread, impressed with how I've managed to hold onto blue french fries for six years, was curious if I kept that pink Simpsons movie donut from 7-Eleven's much ballyhooed movie promotion. No, I haven't. But I still have the photo on my phone, and I will consider that a 5% victory.

There are a lot of Halloween store photos on my phone, spanning more than one season. In the early days of X-E, I had no problem whipping out my real camera and taking pictures to my heart's content, no matter where I was, or how inappropriate it may have been. It's not as easy to do that when you're a little older. Getting confused looks, or even annoyed looks, that's fine. I was used to that. But when you're 30 and you're taking dozens of pictures of the rubber disembodied heads in a Halloween store, people think you're undercover or perhaps some species of misguided pervert. When in-facility photos are needed, I more often rely on my phone these days. It's easier to be covert.

This photo is from just a few weeks ago. I had to work on a Sunday, and since buses into the city are nearly nonexistent on Sundays, I drove in. Finding parking was only a mild bitch, but I didn't quite understand the sign I parked under. Was I allowed to park there? Did I have to fill the meter? Did the Mon-Fri note mean that all bets were off, since I was parking on a Sunday? I know that stuff like this may come easily to most of you, but please remember that I still avoid buying shoes with laces, because I cannot tie them.

Pacing up and down the avenue in a panic over not being able to decode the sign's secret voodoo language, I ultimately took this picture to show the people at work. The consensus was: I could park there. Given the kind of week I was having, it was like a sign from God that He still cared. I never thought I'd do a touchdown dance upon having a co-worker divulge the meaning of a street sign, but then, I expected to be dead by 27 anyway.

I cannot identify the G.I. Joe figure, but the guy on the left is most definitely Teebo the Ewok. Strangely, I do not remember the genesis of this photo, though it seems obvious that the G.I. Joe figure and Teebo had been instructed to dance together. That there are no additional photos in this series is a travesty.

UPDATE: That's Logray, not Teebo. I'm ashamed over the mistake, but I've always had trouble recognizing Logray without his shaman bag and that big staff made out of someone's spine. I prefer to believe in the off chance that without those things, Logray secretly transforms into Teebo.

Ah, another photo from one of the places I've worked at, though this one is much older. As I recall, I had inherited a fairly challenging project, and by "challenging," I mean that I had three strokes by the fifth hour of the first day.

At one point, I was holed up in a faraway room with about 640,000 tapes to mine through, and I'm pretty sure my head would've exploded right then and there had I not noticed the working Ms. Pac-Man machine nearby. When I was sure nobody would be around for a bit, I played a few rounds to ease the tension.

A few rounds became a lot of rounds, because they'd rigged the machine to allow free plays. It seemed like only a few minutes, but it had to be closer to an hour. Not wanting to tempt fate, I sat back down and put on a pissy face to give the impression that I had been working all that time. If any movie-makers or book folks want to discuss purchasing the rights to this story, my e-mail is linked at the bottom of every entry.

It took me a while to remember what this was, which is easy to understand given that it's a photo of complete darkness and a mysterious "EXIT" sign. Several months back, my family threw a birthday party for someone at a bowling alley. When we arrived, we learned that they had no power, and had no idea when they would get power, and were essentially going to be powerless until the person's birthday had certainly passed.

Because the power went out suddenly, lots of people were in the middle of games. Shoes had been rented. Hot dogs and pretzels had been ordered. It wasn't really realistic for most of these people to just get up and leave, leading to a circus-like atmosphere from one end of the haunted bowling alley to the other. Loved it.

Through some miracle, the alley's bar remained opened, even without power. This is a picture of that bar. We ordered a few pitchers, and though some full glasses were lost to the floor as a result of the crowds and darkness, it ended up being a pretty awesome time. I know it'd be kind of hard to plan, but I really encourage you to visit a bowling alley without power at least once in your life.

Happy SNT.