January 10, 2011


[O Children - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Stars - The XX, Dust Bowl Dance - Mumford & Sons; I'm Not Calling You a Liar - Florence + the Machine; Beach Baby - Bon Iver; Lightness - DCFC; On Call - Kings of Leon; Eve, the Apple of my Eye - Bell X1]

"And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair advantage of their brains." –excerpted from Harrison Bergeron by Kurt Vonnegut

Now that Kitten and I have these new keyboarded phones, texting is remarkably easy. Kitten is taking even greater advantage of this fact than I am. When we're together, someone's phone is constantly going off. With a phone beeping or blinging or buzzing every minute or so, you've really got to grasp tightly to the thread of a conversation to keep it from running off when you're not looking.

Of course it's just as difficult when I'm on my own. Potential situation: Put pan on stove. Turn on burner. Pour sauce into pan. Hear text message sound from living room. Decide to wait until food finished cooking to check phone. Dice vegetables. Add to pan. Stare at pan. Shove sauce around in pan with spatula. Will food to cook faster. Decide food is OK on its own for a moment. Run to living room and check message. See text from sister that reads "Chow chow splat toot!" Text her back to express my displeasure with meaningless texts. Set phone down. Begin to return to kitchen. Stop in tracks when text message noise sounds. Go back to phone and check message: "Crystals!!" Text sister: "That's not a thing!" Look up and see Lonely Planet Italy guide on bookcase. Remember that I owe Posh a phone call about our likely spring break trip. Text her to let her know I'm free to talk tomorrow evening. Receive text from sister: "What's not a thing?" Roll eyes and text back "You know what!" Feel like I had something to do, but forget what. Take Italy book off shelf and sit down to leaf through it and reminisce about last trip. Hear weird noise from kitchen. Pad into the room to find sauce splattering all over stove.

When I'm writing, texts barge into my train of thought like persons from Porlock. Only they're more self-inflicted than that, aren't they? So I'll drop the Coleridge comparison in favor of Vonnegut. I am willfully handicapping myself.

And yet, in the back of my mind as I prepare to post this, I am hoping reading it doesn't discourage anyone from sending me texts, even pointless ones. I like them. I appreciate the funny or charming or loving updates.

"A buzzer sounded in George's head. His thoughts fled in panic, like bandits from a burglar alarm."

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