Sunday, February 10, 2008

Your Cell Phone Is a Marvelous Prop

Groucho Marx had his cigar. Charlie Chaplin had his cane and hat. Carrot Top has his trunk full of shit. Demetri Martin has a pad of paper. But people nowadays have their own prop, and it's used constantly in the Theater of Life: the cell phone. They come in different forms from different companies and do different things: some have extra features, like cameras to photograph your underage girlfriend's tits, cameras to photograph your own underage tits, songs stolen off the Internet, games involving plumbers and princesses and flowers spitting fire, chat software so you can keep in constant touch with your dealer who works middle shift at Best Buy. But they're all basically cell phones.

Cell phones and their usage make us look important. Like, so important, people can't turn them off to order a burger or get their super complicated ultra skim latte mocha-fuckachino at $tarbucks. There's nothing 'cooler' than standing around, looking bored and flicking away on your phone, sending a text to someone else at some other location letting everyone around you aware that you're just too frickin' awesome to care about what's going on in that room at that time, that you got some connection, some place, somewhere else you're always ready to go to with a flick of a button. Your half-dead, rotting corpse may be in one area, but your mind is elsewhere. Always had a problem what to do with your hands in an awkward situation? Press buttons! Don't like talking? Press buttons! Driving's boring as hell? Let go of the steering wheel, you're about to get a high score on "Snake!"

Actually, the constant calling and texting make your evenings look a Samuel Beckett play. Let me give you a typical Friday night: People message or call each other to get together and meet somewhere. They meet somewhere and then don't know where to go from there, so they text other people to meet them somewhere else, and so they go there next. And when they're there, they text more people, come up with another plan, maybe do that, maybe not, maybe fracture off into sub-groups. Those sub-groups go in different directions to different locales, and while at those locales they text those same fucking people they just left to tell them where they are and what they're doing. Eventually, the night hours run out, everyone gets tired and goes home to rape each other silly, get arrested or go to bed. The next day, the same thing happens again.

What in the crap is wrong with you people? Basic conversations with people in real life have become a struggle. All I see are glowing devices emitting signals killing bees. (And without the bees, what will birds fuck? ... cuz that's what happens, right?) What's happening is people aren't living in the moment, things are just drifting by them. If any of you knew who Thich Nhat Hanh is, which most you probably don't, you'd know that he (a.) isn't dead, (b.) isn't a hip-hop producer and (c.) thinks that your mindlessness is actually wounding your soul. Your soul! No, you clod, I'm not talking about the music of John Legend. I'm taking about that entity that lives inside you that... wait, what? You gotta take this one? Okay, fine. I'll ... just ... count the change in my pocket ...

... don't mind me.