Home About Bibliography Contact Fiction Links News Ramblings
JWR 2.20 - Let the Cell Phones Hit the Floor
I’d personally like to smash every fisheye lens that exists. God damn you Busta Rhymes for being the first rapper to use a fisheye lens in a video. You had every half-assed rapper thereafter imitating you--like P-Diddy, ad nauseum. Everything gets to the point of ad nauseum. Nobody can think of anything original. Yeah, it’s been done, so let’s imitate it.
I’d like to use cellular phones to smash the lenses. I understand that there’s way more cell phones than fisheye lenses, but cell phones are cheap enough where I think it would take several to smash one lens.
In any case, are you aware that they sell something called the “internal antenna” for cell phones? It’s a sticker with impressive looking circuitry running throughout its surface that you place on the phone under the battery. It’s like adding a four-foot antenna to your phone: incredible reception, no more dropped calls. And to prove it, they have a test. A woman stands in an “elevator” with an identical cell phone in either hand. One has the internal antenna, the other does not. She shakes her head at the first one and smiles at the second and begins speaking into it. Funny thing: you can hear the phone ring, but you can’t hear her talk. I think the phone ringing sound was added afterwards.
You’d think if the internal antenna were such a great fucking thing that all cell phones would have one standard, like tires on a car.
Oh, and if you order now, they’ll throw in a “wave blocker.” Now, the wave blocker is yet another sticker you put on the back of the cellular phone that looks rather like a textured rubber nub. They claim that it will repel 99% of the electromagnetic waves emitted by a cell phone.
Remember when the study came out that said cell phones caused brain tumors? I thought, how appropriate. The most annoying assholes that have to call home when they’re at the supermarket to check if the significant other wants cheddar cheese or colby wind up complaining about their headaches over the very device that caused it. Allegedly. I figure put the wave blocker on backwards and shoot those harmful rays directly into the brain. What, you’re milk is radioactive, who gives a shit?
New York just passed a law or decree or some bullshit fucking thing that will get overturned in two months like that prohibition shit from the twenties banning the use of cell phones while driving. It’s about time. Even though it won’t stand, it’s about time someone(s) did something to curb--pun definitely intended--all the motor mouth jackoffs who talk and attempt to drive at the same time, and wind up doing neither very well. These are the people who shouldn’t walk and scratch their arms at the same time. And they’re going to drive a ton and a half automobile and use a cellular phone simultaneously. If the two things were meant to go together, they would teach them both at drivers’ ed. They should put goddamn warnings on the backs of cell phones like with alcohol: USE OF CELLULAR PHONE WHILE DRIVING INHIBITS OPERATION OF AUTOMOBILE AND MAY CAUSE INJURIES OR FATALITIES. Then some stupid motherfucker (or incredibly brilliant asshole) can collect three billion dollars from the cell phone companies claiming that he never saw the warning and, hence, is not responsible for the loss of the use of his legs after a car accident.
Remember the BABY ON BOARD little warning signs that used to be popular? They should actually put them in cars with little kids. God and baby Jesus know that when I see little the little chubby arms of a small child in the back seat of a car, I back off dramatically. I know what it feels like to rear end a minivan containing three small children who are not buckled in. It feels fucking bad. No longer do you see those signs. Why? Because they made so many faggy imitation novelty signs that people stopped paying attention: DOG ENTHUSIAST ON BOARD; VEAL LOVER ON BOARD; MASTURBATORY FANATIC ON BOARD; BITCH ASS BITCH ON BOARD.
I’d like to buy a cell phone and one day go to a busy area like a mall and just stand in the middle of the mall where there’s a whole bunch of jerks standing around and just have someone like my brother on the phone. Someone that can really rile me up. Then, as soon as I have everybody’s attention, I’d heave my phone at the ground or a nearby wall. The hundreds of shattered pieces of plastic and circuitry and buttons would shower everywhere, on people, hopefully in some eyes. Then I would walk away giving everyone something to tell their families at the dinner table that night. Or more appropriately, something to tell their families as they see them individually through the day.
The worst thing is, when you actually NEED a cell phone, there isn’t one around. And your friend who has one didn’t bring it that particular day.
I’ve used a cell phone maybe three times. Once I was walking through a store talking over it and something strange happened: I suddenly felt taller and even... yes, better that everyone else. It’s kind of like using a camera. You can detach from the world in which all others exist by looking at a framed existence. Cell phones work in the same way, just utilizing a different sense. You can hear something nobody else can and actually interact with that person, but nobody else can. People look at you when you’re on a cell phone. Is it envy or is it anger?
I know I’ve written about cell phones before, but a resurgence in the popularity of them has spurred my fingers to type on it again. Plus, Jamie Lee Curtis wearing an evening gown in the middle of the desert leaning over the open hood of her car whining “Talk to me” is enough to make one put a foot through the TV. The TV, the most valued member of the family. Either that or throw an ottoman into a wall.
Come to think of it, detaching from this world might not be such a bad thing. I’m going to go buy a cell phone. A store is going to sell me a cell phone. Get it? Cell and sell?
P.S.: Welcome to the newbies.
T.P. update: 2 down, 2 to go. Word.
Copyright © 2001 John Lemut