February, 2008 Edition

by Ms. Duh
Contributing Columnist

Well. It took me long enough, donchathink?

Since. Yowza. March 2007.

Well. Things have happened. I was penning my April 2007 column when suddenly there was this brilliant flash of light. I was lifted by an unknown force towards the ceiling, and went through the light fixture and I was in John Malkovich.

No. I don't think that was it. I think I hit my head on a rack of Michael Bolton CDs at a Virgin Megastore and woke up 6 months later to find out I was working as a roadie for the band Megadeth.

Um. Nope.

WRITER'S STRIKE!! THAT'S IT. Solidarity to mah brothas!! Okay. So I started WAY early, but I could see the writing on the wall. I saw the oppressor capitalist pig man with his hobnailed boot upon the throat of the working man.

Or it could be that I'm am a fabulously boring writer and had to have a lot of crap happen to me. And it did.

But. Guys and gals, peeps and pals. I have to tell you the news. It's big. Especially, since I reread the last column.

I... bought.... an.... iPhone.....

YES. YES the world has gone topsy turvy, hell has ski slopes now, and my great legs I had in college have returned to me after a long vacation in Krispy Kreme land.

Ah, so now, you are expecting me to BAG furiously and fast on the iPhone, being one who has experienced the creature from another Jobs up close and personal-like.

And. Not to disappoint. I will bag a bit on the wonderous thing that is the iPhone. But then, another cold front comes into hades and I find somethings I actually like and appreciate with this thing that tosses me squarely into the 21st century.


When did customer service become this rare, nearly extinct creature that you only see after having a couple Jack and Cokes in preparation to shoot yourself one of dem Bigfoots?

First I bought the iPhone online from ATT. The dude promised me the sky. Said I could do anything from calling the moon to launching nuclear missles. Okay. So being the mac-mac that I am, I said "sure, sign me up before I change my mind." I actually said that. Boy. That's going to cause ALL the used car dealers to beat a path to my door.

"Just shut up and sign me up. What? What plan? Explain what to me? Nah, just do it. Do it before I change my mind."

I just laid back and thought of England.

So I waited for about a week for this thing to come to my door. Oh my stars and lucky charms, the packaging was classy. But what do you expect from Apple? If you have to live on a box on the street, I would get a giant apple box to panhandle from.
Probably has a sauna and hardwood floors.

Being the Duh that I am, I decided before I liked the phone, that it would be my only phone. I would ditch the land line and speed headlong into the next century SANS LAND LINE. And BOY, did my cable provider pitch a fit and send his only servant Beelzebubba (he's from South Hell, off the interstate) to try and talk me out of it. Ain't nothing better than begging someone to turn off your phone.

Here's the next couple of weeks in a nutshell:

ME: Port my number.
Them: No I won't port your number.
ME: You must port my number.
Them: NO, I won't port your number.
ME: But you must port my number.
Them: Go pound sand.

Finally, after photocopying some boobies (I didn't say MINE) and attaching a fifty dollar bill, I got my phone number ported.

So for a couple weeks, I sit with my new phone. I don't talk on it, and just check the weather and the stocks on it. I have Apple stock, so all you need to go out and buy yourself a couple of iPhones... if you love me, you'll do it.

I was lukewarm about the phone. Didn't feel that special connection to it, except when I put it on vibrate and called myself.

Then something happened. I called people on the phone. Holding the iPhone while I talked sucked so I got a bluetooth. $40.

The iPhone kept clinking against my keys in my pocket and I couldn't have that. So I got one of the phone clipper-on-the-belt things. Brown. Leather. $52.

Then I actually started calling and talking to people comfortably. And the conversation got longer, and the contempt for people got less. But I ran out of minutes. A lot. $152.

Somebody text me. I text them back. 492 text later, I find out they are 15 cents each. Uh ho. $AUGH.

I get on the internet on the phone. OMFG.

I play music on the phone through the speakers on the bottom. OMFG.

I get phone calls from England. OMFG. BTW, who ever you are. Stop.

I don't leave the house without this thing. I keep touching where it is to make sure my baby is still there. I check the weather 12 times a day. I stoically bear the pain of the this torture device on my ear that is laughingly called a headset. They should call it a "GODDAMMIT, IT'S KILLING ME" -set. But yet, I stick the fat bulbous end in my ear and call it good.

And all the while in my sleep, I think the iPhone chants to me softly "one of us. one of us."



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