The other day, my cell phone’s battery started losing energy at an alarming rate, almost faster than it could recharge when I plugged it into the wall. These kinds of things happen all the time; just about everything in our lives is powered by electricity these days, quite a lot of these electric and electronic devices run on batteries, a lot of those batteries are rechargeable, and rechargeable batteries tend to run out of juice over time.

It made me sad, though, to see my cell phone dropping dead right in front of me, because in an age of planned obsolescence and techno-fetish trendiness, I had managed to hold on to the same clunky old phone for nigh on seven years. I chose my particular phone because it was advanced enough to play Snake; now, I can’t even keep track of all the games a person can play, or the ringtones they can download, or the whole messaging thing that has people chatting on their phones without even speaking. We’re living in a wireless era, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at my little 20th-century throwback. My cell phone actually managed to outlive my cell phone company; the lid has the AT&T logo stamped on it, but my bills come from Cingular these days.

It’s all very confusing, and as much of a gadget fetishist as I am, I wasn’t looking forward to having to navigate the sea of service providers and plans that shout at you from every corner of the mall and the Web. It looked like I was finally going to have to suck it up and go for it, though, after my phone finally seemed to give up the ghost, plaintively beeping at me with a flurry of “low power” warnings, then going blank and silent. I plugged it back into the wall one last time — not so much to recharge it as to let it lay in state — and went to bed, looking forward to a long day of looking at weekend minute rates and roaming charges.

The next morning, I sleepily pulled the charging plug off the phone and switched it on before remembering that it was a goner. To my surprise, though, the battery meter read “full.” I suppressed the little flare of hope that welled up in me, but still tossed it in my bag as I headed out to work. As the day went on, though, I couldn’t resist the urge to sneak peaks at it, and as the day went on, the battery meter held fast. Like a phoenix, my cell phone’s battery had died and risen from its own ashes, and I was overjoyed. Who needs a Treo or a Blackberry when you have an immortal phone?