I’ve spent a lot of time ranting about what, on the surface, appears to be innocuous things like, for example, Mark Teixeira, Miracle Whip, or IMDB.com. These are things that make me mad and ranting about them brings me a little bit of joy. While I make no excuses for my hatred, people are often under the wrong impression that my venom is spit randomly. I do have good reason behind each thing but don’t feel the need to explain myself. Anybody subjected to these ravings knows that any attempt to explain my “stupidity” to me only makes it worse. Much of the time, these opinions become hard and fast principles, hatred to live by, if you will, and I’ve rarely been steered wrong by them.
Sometimes, however, much as I’m comfortable with my hatred, one has to pick his battles. Changes in circumstance and the evolution of my reasoning, very occasionally, will necessitate a revision of these principles. I know it has to happen but each time is like passing a kidney stone. Such was the case this week when I found myself ceding one of the main points: the dreaded cellular telephone. I know, it makes me sick as well just writing the words, but there it is. I’ve spent years making fun of people with these silly contraptions as the scream “Buy!” and “Sell!” into the ether in the middle of the dollar store. People pining for their phone that they left at the house, lamenting their un-connectivity, it is to laugh. Yet, here I am with the vibrating pocket. It’s been a couple of days, so the initial shock has worn off, but it still feels like something of a self-betrayal. People seem to like the things, so I suppose that feeling goes away and, plus, it was for a good cause. The majority of my luddite credibility now gone, however I’ve justified it for myself, I’ve come one step closer to falling in line. Next thing you know, I’m going to be signing the papers on an unsecured mortgage before heading to church to baptize my kids. God, what have I become?
