Wednesday, January 23, 2008



Yesterday, I left my phone at the house when I went to work. Now, being a feller who never much wanted a cell phone in the first place, it was maybe a touch ironic that I spent much of the day missing the phone.

In the first place, it's what I use in place of wearing a wristwatch. I don't guess you realize just how much you look at your timepiece until it's not there. I guess it's the mobile equivalent of flipping on the same light switch 900 times when the power's out. If I had to put an estimate on just how many times I brushed my hand down to my hip, only to find my trusty six-shooter and nothing more, I think the number would reach easily into the thousands.

In the second place, I was trying to coordinate the meeting of people so that we might make the trek to Chattanooga to watch the Monty Python movie, chronicled in the hallowed pages of this blog this very morning. Not having the phone, and not remembering anybody but Shyam's phone number (and then, only barely), made it hard to get in touch with people, short of dialing information.

Just so my brother-in-law knows, I tried standing on the sidewalk of my workplace, screaming his name in the general direction of Chattanooga at various points during the day. But I guess the wind just wasn't right.

Anyway, I went straight from work to the movie and didn't get back home until 10 or 10:30. I found my phone on the coffee table, and looked through the number of calls that I'd missed. The ones that made me smirk a little were the calls from work, which meant somebody tried to call me from work, while I was there.

But among the phone calls were from my friend Chris. We'd made plans to catch a movie one night this week, and those plans haven't yet come to fruition. I figure that's why he called (though he left no voicemail...).

There was one text message, though: "Not answering because you're crying about Heath Ledger?"

I texted back "I generally cry about Heath Ledger, but I left my phone at the house, that's why no answer...."

And then I sat down in front of the interweb to find out that the Joker to be had been found dead.

I don't have any thoughts of real weight to share. I thought he was a competent actor. He never annoyed me in any of his roles. I was somewhat excited about what I'd seen about his Joker in the Dark Knight movie. But really, the news of his death hit me with about he same impact as being told that we're expecting a partly cloudy, moderately warm day a week from Tuesday. Interesting, I guess. But of little import to me.

Which is why the news was irksome today. The news, and the interweb. Because you couldn't fling a handful of cat litter without hitting 7 stories about the death of the movie star.

Now, I don't claim to be a news junkie or nothing. But ain't there other stuff loads more important out there? Or do we just have too many news channels, but a populace not quite grown-up enough to deal with the stuff that's truly important in life?


Tragedy? Who knows. I guess it's all subjective. Sure, it's a shame the guy died. It's a shame that there's a kid somewhere who's going to grow up without a Dad. That truly does suck eggs. But is it worth the media onslaught? My gut says nope. Seems like it's a private matter, ultimately, that's doing more harm than good when you publicize it to the degree we have. Especially when the media onslaught seems to be somewhat contrived....

I guess it's all in the eyes of a beholder. My personal definition of tragedy? There is no Royal Rumble ever held in which all 30 participants are still living. Or maybe the tragedy is the fact that I got 2 hours of sleep a couple nights ago, and in my battle against insomnia, I researched that little tidbit.

Craziness, huh?

Maybe on more than a couple levels.

Ah well. Gonna wander towards the sleep. Y'all have a good night.


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