Unconventional Wisdom: It’s a pandemic. A fucking cell phone pandemic
So we’re picking up a couple days late here. The news of American Hero Patrick Swayze’s death preempted us making fun of Harry Caines, who still writes his petty bitches for the Utah Statesman. We can’t help but think Caines’ articles aren’t appearing online because he knows we’re lazy, and it will only be a matter of weeks before transcribing this shit will become unbearable. [UPDATE: Here it is.]
Think again my friend. Annnndddd awaaaayyyy we go….
The combined addictive qualities of cocaine, liquor, gambling, sex, organized religion, Facebook and chocolate doesn’t come close to the enslaving power that cell phones have on American society.
Yup, people are retarded for their phones. It’s well-documented.
There is a joke that the comedian Steven Wright told 20 years ago that I find quite profound. Wright said, “I bought an answering machine for my car phone. The message says, ‘I am home right now. Leave a message and I will call you when I go out.’” Farce has become reality.
Harry Caines: your source for 20-year-old jokes.
For over a decade I resisted the urge to succumb to the pratfalls this addiction yokes on to most of you.
You didn’t buy a cell phone, in other words.
Keeping Nancy Reagan’s crypt keeper voice in my head, I just said, no. I refused to chase the dragon.
“Chase the dragon” = buy a cell phone?
But, I am mortal after all, and this week, I finally broke down and bought an iPhone. Now, like most of you, I spend my days tethered to this awe-inspiring gizmo.
Well, that morality tale just took a sharp left turn! Whoa! Hold on to your ankles, folks!
I am not suggesting that cell phones are altogether bad. There are many examples where being available through a cell phone has landed people jobs or other benefits that has improved their lives.
[sic]
The problem I speak of is that we as a society are so immersed with our phones that we are now losing our ability to converse with others face-to-face.
Coming next week in this space: “What’s with all these free AOL cds I keep getting?” and “Gee, what’s the deal with pogs?”
That is the great irony. The ability to communicate anytime we want has stunted our ability to communicate.
Just try reading this column!
Think on this. How many times have you not answered your phone when someone calls you,
We’re guessing this happens to Caines a lot.
but you return that same person’s text message within 30 seconds of reading it? How many times have you had a designated place and time to meet someone and call to tell them you arrived there on time? When did you last call someone just to tell them you were leaving the store? When did you last bump into someone in a hallway because you were texting on your phone and not looking where you were going? And, finally, when did you last send a text message to someone that was within 10 feet of you? Don’t you find that bizarre?
Have you ever talked on your phone a whole bunch? You ever use up all your minutes? Isn’t that just crazy?
Face it. Many of us are diseased, and it’s spreading to pandemic levels.
We hate people who use the word pandemic. No one said it until 2008 and now it’s “cell phone pandemic” this and “pandemic of savings at West Valley Hyundai” that.
This disease also leads to a bigger problem of laziness. In my misbegotten youth, I would travel miles searching for a weekend party. It could be said that my friends and I resembled something out of National Geographic. Picture the scene if you can. A pack of young human males in the prime of mating season, using their keen sense of smell and hearing, walking by a row of houses, listening for music and the clang of beer bottles.
The clang of beer bottles, eh Caines? They drink beer in steel bottles in Illadelph?
And then, once we found a party, fighting the others males with no other tool but my intellect
We refuse to fight in a battle of wits with an unarmed man.
in an attempt to get a young human female to come outside and make out with me. it sounds primitive. Yet, I can emphatically state that there was an exhilaration in the conquest.
“A young human female?” “Conquest?” Where in thee fuck are you partying? The Mos Eisley Cantina from Star Wars?
Today, you young bucks just text a friend with a photo of a happening party and 10 dudes show up within a half hour.
No homo.
Simply stated, you don’t earn it.
Yeah, you’re supposed to EARN pussy. WITHOUT USING CELL PHONES. THE WAY HARRY CAINES DID ONCE IN 1972.
Do college kids really need to be in contact with every single person they know every moment they are awake? Am I so disconnected from the current world that only I see the happiness in running into someone I did not expect to meet?
Do we have more friends now-a-days because it is easier to stay in touch? Yes. At the end of the day we are still close to just a few people. These days we don’t have time to chat with strangers down at the general store or whittle with grandpa on the front porch. We’re just gonna shoot them a text saying, “better get here quick, keg is nearly tapped,” We’re busy trying to lay the pipe to some girl who thinks she writes poetry.
In my day, stalking someone was an art form that required a highly tuned perception. Today, all you need to do is read Facebook or Twitter to know where someone is. In my opinion, it is not really stalking if they tell you where they are going to be.
Okay, we get it, you’re trying to be funny. But you got to be careful with this shit. It’s like guys who go around doing rape material. Eventually you start to seem a little rapey.
I offer you wacky kids this challenge. On a Friday night in October, go out and leave your cell phone at home. That gives you a whole month to plan out this scary prospect. Make no plans at all. Just drive or walk around and try to find something going on. See if you can run into people or a party or find something stimulating to do with no other skill than a keen discernment and blind luck.
Go ahead, set aside an entire night of your life for this gay little social experiment. Make plans that next month you’ll make no plans. A bit paradoxical don’t you think?
Who knows, maybe you really will meet up with a group of really cool people and have an actual conversation with them. And the next day, you can make them a Facebook friend.
Warning: if you meet Harry Caines at a party, don’t tell him your real name or he’ll try to facebook friend you.
/special thanks to the girl with bad nails that Dickhouse boned in San Fran, for the photo.
Es todos los cuentos!
[...] questions which were likely on Caines’ mind at the time: Why is everyone texting? Don’t people talk to each other anymore? Don’t people just go wandering around drunk and walk into random houses where they think they [...]
Stop re-reading my shit!
What happened to “unhygienic friend?”
This guy must have it pretty good if this stuff is the only thing he can find to complain about.
He actually claims that he does not read The Truant.
Is that what you want of your statesman columnists? So detached he can’t even read the prescient stylings of Utah’s most reliable news source? Me Either.
How many threatening emails has Caines sent to you? Big fucking baby.