I have a message on my cellphone, but don’t know how to retrieve it. We programmed in a password, but it won’t take the password. So I’m stumped. I’m wondering who called, and if it’s important. Maybe somebody died.

I am telephonically challenged. My cellphone has a calendar, but I can never remember how to get to it, so I don’t use it. My stress level rises whenever I need to look up a number in the address book, and the thought of programming in a new address freaks me out. My wife just starts hitting buttons automatically, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. At times like those, I resent her transcendent competence.

My cellphone will take pictures, handle text messages, do voice dialing, show me a log of all calls placed and missed, and even let me play games. It’ll surf the web if I want to pay for the privilege (which I don’t). But I’ve not done any of that stuff. I just want to punch in a number, hit SEND, and have somebody answer. The other thing I’ve mastered is recharging the battery. I nailed that task long ago. The sense of accomplishment still gives me goosebumps.

I’m not exactly technologically inept. I do a lot of complicated stuff. I can handcode HTML and CSS. I’m proficient with Photoshop, InDesign. Dreamweaver, and many more high-end programs. I’m great with MS Word tabs. I work with Javascript, XHTML, XSLT (the absolute worst). I design Filemaker databases with complex scripting. I know all about the various graphics formats (PNG, JPG, TIF, PSD, GIF, etc.), with attendant info about dpi and resolutions and what works better on the web and in print. I can bend Blogger and Movable Type templates to my will. I oversee a network of computers (including five servers), design and maintain a half-dozen websites and several blogs, get databases to display on the web, and much more. I love FTPing. I talk enough Geek to fool people into thinking I am one. When I surf the web, I often look at a page’s source code, just to see how they did something.

But I can’t figure out my cellphone. And while we’re at it, I don’t like FAX machines, either.