Revelation #T-9

Sitting, thinking . . . wishing, wanting . . . pushing, shoving . . . shoving, pushing . . .

These last couple of weekends have presented me with revelation. The kind of revelation that makes you stop in your tracks and say "Whoa. I -- I'm one of them!" "Them" pertains to a group of people or a fraction of society that you wish you wouldn't belong to. But most of the time if you find you do in fact belong to the group you're wishing to avoid being a member of . . . you don't really care, save for saying a "One of them!" statement and then getting on with your breaking personal promises lifestyle.

I have a cellphone. It's a piece of crap compared to the small CIA control stations everyone else is touting in the outside world. Touch the screen on those babies and you can nuke a small, defenseless country. It's an application -- look it up . . . or something.

I get by just fine with my piece of crap cellphone. Seriously, it can't even take pictures, let alone even receive pictures that people send me. A text message is sent to me from my own number. This is where I go "Did . . . did I seriously send a text message to myself? Did I blackout? What happened?" It usually ends in disappointment. It's my Verizon service saying "HEY! You've got a FLIX pix. Go to www.vzwpix.com to receive your photos!!" I'm not registered with the Verizon group. It sort of slips my mind. I'm under a family plan so I figure my mom takes care of all of that hullaballoo. I don't even know what my passwords are for the phone. I can't register even if I tried. So, basically, no pictures are getting in or out on my phone (hint hint friends o' mine currently on the east coast -- I CAN'T SEE YOUR PHOTOS AND EVERY TIME YOU SEND ME ONE IT REMINDS ME HOW UTTERLY POOR AND WEAK I AM COMPARED TO YOUR AWESOME PIXEL CREATING MACHINES!!!!).

My phone does the simple functions, the basics, if you will, for mobile normalcy in a non-normal world: it calls, it receives calls, it texts (poorly, people can write texts in mere seconds, I spend about as much time trying to write a stupid one liner "Can't come, gotta work" message as a three year old spends trying to write a letter to Congress on a typewriter), it receives texts. I can't even figure out how to record an outgoing voice mail message on the phone, I've checked numerous times. Maybe I haven't rigorously sought out how, I s'pose, but yeah. It should be easier than that. That's why you get the Verizon lady instead of my scrumptious vocal chords if you can't reach me.

I've had better phones, including a camera phone. That one was stuck in "Car Kit" mode or something, which is like the blue screen of death for cell phones, apparently. I needed a phone, I picked up the cheapest piece of crap at the store because my contract on the first phone wasn't up yet. One more month. They planned that. A remote destructor blew my phone into "Car Kit" mode so I could give more money to Verizon like a schmuck. "Can you hear me now?" "BOOOOOOMMMM!!!!" "Good."

So, seeing my dad's Iphone, roommate's Google map functions . . . it's not so much that I'm jealous, it's more like I'm taking advantage of their machines whenever they're around. For instance, Louie used to have a Sprint phone that allowed him Google map access. If lost, you can pinpoint your current location in order to find a way out of the veritable black hole you've found yourself in and plan an evac to the path you originally decided to embark upon. Last week, Louie and I were trying to find Schlotzsky's Deli (the finest sandwich I've ever eaten is their Original). We thought we went too far, so I said "Wait, do you have your phone on you? We can check out where it is exactly."

Louie retorted and said "I don't have that phone anymore."

"You don't -- you don't have the phone anymore? Well . . . what are we going to do?"

That's when I had the revelation: I was reliant on technology I never thought I would need or care for. I actually longed for a touchpad based phone. No, not longed, NEEDED.

Just to finish the story out, Louie and I resorted to the next best thing: we stopped at the nearby Southdale Mall and went to the Apple store to use a laptop and check what we could've checked on a stupid awesome phone with sales people trying to spread their Apple disease all over us in the process. All so we could get a fucking sandwich. We found it eventually . . . but it was closed. Sad ending, I know. You can't win 'em all. This is my life, folks.

The reason I don't really care to have an awesome phone is because I thought I didn't like using it. I avoided calls, usually. I would just silence the ringing and wait to call back until I was ready to talk.

That was then, this is now.

After being cooped up in my room trying to forge together my musical dreams that scream "FAILURE!" ever more as the days pile up, I long for communication. Now, whenever the phone rings, I jump with joy. CONTACT WITH AN OUTSIDE CONSULTANT!!!

So, now I want to talk more, now I want applications to nuke innocent people, now I want GPS systems on my phone. Oh, and pictures, too.

Conclusion: I'm one of them.



Spoon -- "I Turn My Camera On"