I don't have a cell phone.

I'm thinking of having that phrase tattooed on my forehead or, at the very least, made into a half dozen t-shirts.

I am the only person in Los Angeles under the age of 73 who doesn't have one. And I don't want one, so Verizon and Cingular and all the rest of them should stop sending me fliers. Think of all the wasted trees.

It's not that I don't understand the usefulness. While driving around lost, it would be very handy to be able to call someone not lost who could get me un-lost. While trapped in an elevator or kidnaped by circus performers or simply stuck in traffic about to be late to something important, a cell phone would be very handy.

I never write a character who doesn't have one. It's too wonderful of a plot device.

But for me, the tradeoff is simply too great. I don't want to be that connected. I'm not a brain surgeon. No one is going to die if I have to wait until I can get home to check my messages. (Yes, the answering machine I conceded to.) Besides, how will I run away from home if everyone with access to a phone can find me? I know the little buggers have off buttons, but still...Why pay $70 a month for something I'm just going to turn off 99 percent of the time?

It's not as though I'm a techno-phobe. I would rather go without my bed than my computer. My watch can launch the space shuttle...or at the very least record 150 of my runs including split times. And I have a palm pilot I know how to use but never do. (It's so much easier just to write the darn appointment on a calendar.) But none of those things can interrupt a conversation or find me when I'd rather not be found, which truthfully is a lot of the time.

So no, I can't call you when I'm almost there. I can't check in while I'm at the grocery store. And I have no ring tone preferences. So for the love of all that is holy, stop asking! And stop sending those fliers, too, while you're at it. They're filling up my recycling bin.