Ithaca Mafia.

I thought that after two years together, my iPhone and I had a really strong connection. A bond, if you will. Apparently that was not the case. For, once we arrived in London, it was *so* excited to be here that it leapt from my pocket and into the back of the taxi we took from the train station. Jet lagged, exhausted and excited at the prospect of a nap, I didn’t follow my primary rule for taxi travel: check your pockets and backseat before you exit. So, my iPhone is gone. (Barring any unforseen miracles.) Let this stand as a cautionary tale to make sure you set a password on your phone (and check your pockets when you get out of a cab). In the meantime, I’ve suspended my AT&T account and I’ve still got access to email. And, if you’d like to call with a voicemail or text, just hit up my google voice number. It’s the same area code as my main cell number, plus the numbers seven six seven, six one six zero. For now, I’m going to focus on the upside: like this delicious pint sitting next to me.