Less than two weeks ago, I was reaffirming to all within the sound of my voice that I would never, ever own or use a cellphone.
Now I won’t have to shout it so loudly. I’ll just be able to call everyone I know while I walk down the sidewalk, thanks to my wife, Anitra “Yes You Will” Freeman.
“Yes, you will,” she said, as she dragged her prehistoric husband to the bright, white-interiored mobile phone store, to be bewildered by the array of magical technology. Now, in less than a week, this cave-man columnist has gotten Instagram and is posting cat pictures and browsing free apps. The pocket travel alarm has been retired after years of service, replaced by a phone clock that can also be used as a stopwatch.
“What if there were an emergency?” she said, with urgency. “Suppose you were attacked by a saber-toothed tiger? How would you get help?”
“I wouldn’t need help,” I said. “I’d be torn apart.”
“Well, you should at least call me and let me know,” she said.
Such thinking is foreign to me.
For the first time in my life, I have been SMSed. (For those of you who haven’t caught up to this century, SMS stands for “short message service.”) It feels strange. Now and then, these little messages come into this little box. Does anyone read theirs? What do they all mean? They are numbered for no apparent purpose. I’m sure they are useless.
I now have a constant, recurring urge to take my own picture wherever I go. Behold! Here. I. Am. In front of this, whatever this is, behind me. And then post it to social media, mercilessly.
The next time I’m riding a bus and someone has a loud conversation on their cell phone, I want to whip mine out, dial a friend at random and have a dueling conversation. With Bluetooth headphones and a mic.
I will never have to fight with a phone cord again. At least not at home.
The whole reason I chose to go into mathematics was that I kept having fights with tangled phone cords, which I came to despise. I wanted to take revenge on them. So, I studied knot theory, in order to better plot my revenge. One thing led to another. I suppose it’s difficult for others to understand. Well, mathematics isn’t always easy.
Speaking of things that aren’t easy, how about this impeachment?
I’ve been avoiding this subject lately because I don’t like to depress myself with politics. I’d rather depress myself by contemplating the big earthquake, or global warming and the rise of the oceans, or an unexpected supernova of a nearby star. I’d rather dwell on the heat death of the universe. It’s sort of colorful.
The odds that President Donald Trump will be impeached are right now probably 100 to 1 in favor. The odds that he’ll be convicted by the Senate are probably 1 to 100 against. It would take around 20 Republican votes to get a conviction. I have no idea how that many Republicans can ever come around to understanding why Trump should be removed from office.
So all the signs are that Trump will still be in office for November’s election.
At the present time, I don’t think he has a good chance of winning reelection.
Back in 2016, I was one of the few people in my circle of friends who thought Trump was likely to be elected. It was clear that people across the country wanted to take a chance on a break from the usual sort of politics.
Well, that happened. You’ve had your break, and I don’t believe there’s going to be as much enthusiasm to keep it going.
There’s a lot of speculation now that if Trump loses the election, he’ll resign before the following Jan. 20 in order to allow Vice President Mike Pence to give him a blanket pardon. Wouldn’t that be a fine way for it all to end?
See? It’s just not easy to enjoy this depressing state of affairs.
I like things that crash and burn and blow up. I like Godzilla-style disasters.
The Stranger just reported that, in the event of a big subduction zone earthquake, the federal government won’t send relief supplies by way of Interstate 5 because it will be presumed unsafe.
The thinking is if I-5 doesn’t collapse during the big one, it could collapse at any time in the days that follow.
That’s the kind of disaster I can enjoy dwelling on.
The impeachment process looks like it’s headed for a dreary fizzle.
Dr. Wes Browning is a one time math professor who has experienced homelessness several times. He supplied the art for the first cover of Real Change in November of 1994 and has been involved with the organization ever since. This is his weekly column, Adventures in Irony, a dry verbal romp of the absurd. He can be reached at drwes (at) realchangenews (dot) org
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