In the ever growing family of fun and functional cell phone features, there is one that clearly hasn't earned a place at the table - Voice Recognition (VR).

But while MMS toasts a civilized cabernet with MP3, while WIFI discusses pop culture with Bluetooth, down in the basement in a torn AC/DC T-shirt, possibly awaiting trial, is VR.

VR is like an annoying friend suffering an advanced case of Tourette's syndrome who insists on coming along on a date. There is me, the person I am trying to communicate with, and VR.

I always try it. In a quiet room with no ambient sound, appropriate humidity and temperature, holding the phone six inches from my mouth, I say, "Call John". VR responds with, "Stall Dawn"? Gathering myself, I say again, "Call John." Equally patient, VR offers "Ping Pong"? Frustrated I shout "Screw you!" and VR promptly replies, "Calling Accountant."

I am a patient man. I'm willing to tolerate dropped calls, I put up with the five keystrokes it takes to view my local weather and I understand that "dedicated" keys are not necessarily dedicated to me. But I want VR to work. With each new device my hope springs anew.

However, I can't help shake the uneasy feeling that VR has become an inside joke created by a global and secret cabal of programmers, enticing me with the promise that "Call John" will not be processed as "Don Juan".

If you discuss VR with someone who genuinely understands the subject, they quickly point out that VR is a tenacious technology and monumentally challenging. However, if we are now able to produce microscopic machines that can flow through the blood stream and repair the human body, how difficult can VR really be? You know, nano technology was developed by the Borg and they have excellent voice recognition products.

Of course, one solution would be to use reverse psychology. I could say, "Tall Pizza" when I want to "Call Lisa". I could say "I be free" when I want to pull up my MP3, or I could say "Known Thieve" to "Phone Steve".

Perhaps I just need to learn this VR language until, one day, it might finally "Turn Wine". Oops, I mean "Learn Mine".