Twitter Quip

    Modern Avoidances (i h8 2 w8 4 ttyls)

    When text messaging was first introduced to the world, I thought it was an absurd concept. I mean, why take the time to type someone a message when it’s much easier to verbally tell them? Cell phone companies tried to tell us how useful texting was. I remember a commercial that showed two people at a party who were unable to talk to each other because the music was too loud. Being hip and smart, they used their cell phones and communicated via text messaging. Seemed foolish to me. If a party is that loud, go outside. And who goes to a party with music that loud? Plus, it cost something like 10 cents a message. Nothing I ever had to say seemed worth 10 cents. I stayed away from text messaging like Tigers Woods stayed away from controversy. But that was then…

    …this is now. Today, I’m a big texter. The Wife gets angry ’cause I spend way too much texting other people instead of talking to her. I’m glad I’m on an unlimited texting plan ’cause if I wasn’t, I’d probably spend a full month’s unemployment check on text messages. I send and receive more texts than you’re . . . . .

     

    Turns out, I’m a snob

    The most unrealistic thing about “2012” is that the producers expected us to believe a black man could be voted president in the United States.

    Damn. That joke woulda been a lot funnier two years ago.

    I think I might be a softball snob. I’ve been playing the game for so long, I have so many expectations and ideals that few people can live up to. I don’t want to go around thinking I’m better than anyone else. I don’t enjoy feeling like something is below me or inferior. But when I see a softball that doesn’t live up to my standards I’m horrified.

    During the summer we brought a new guy out to our Thursday night softball team. He had an ad on Craigslist and I figured, why not? Dude said he had experience and could play an “ugly shortstop” if we desperately needed. He sounded like a great fit for our team because he seemed like a good guy and we have always valued character over talent on our team.

    But when he came out to the game, it was painfully obvious he was not a good player. His mechanics were terrible, he made bad decisions on the . . . . .

     

    Dr. Distracted, professional healer

    Last week in soccer class, one of the girls kicked me in the shin. While that’s not an interesting story (actually, it’s a bit embarrassing), the aftermath that followed certainly worth telling. Besides the three-inch by one-inch scab, I also developed a large, yellowish-purple bruise on my leg that could be seen from outer space. My shin became incredibly sensitive to touch (I even hurt myself putting on socks) and on occasions it hurt to walk because I couldn’t put too much weight on it. Since the injury happened at school, I figured I ought to let the school’s health center check me out (that and I don’t have health insurance).

    After being admitted, a youngish doctor entered the examining room carrying my chart and an iPhone. “How did you hurt yourself,” she asked me.

    “Someone kicked me in the shin,” I told her as she looked at her iPhone. “Since it’s been a week and hasn’t shown any signs of healing, I figured I better get it checked out.”

    There was a moment of silence as she typed something on her iPhone. “Uh-huh. What kind of pain do you feel?”

    “Ungawdly, tremendous amounts of pain if I touch it . . . . .

     

    One man’s problem is another man’s gift

    There was a dark period of my life about five years ago when I was fresh out of college and couldn’t get a job–but that’s not really central to this story other than I had massive amounts of free time on my hands. One of the things I did to occupy my time was to drive down to San Diego and spend my days at the Indian casino. Now I know what you’re thinking (an unemployed fellow shouldn’t be spending his time at the Blackjack tables) but it sorta worked out for me. In retrospect, I might have been precariously close to having a gambling problem. Perhaps the only thing that prevented it from being a “problem” was that I always won.

    Sometime around the height of my Blackjack days a dealer handed me a brochure that outlined the signs of a gambling problem. I’m not sure why he gave it to me (maybe it’s because I was still sitting at the same spot when he went home the night before). I never thought I had a gambling problem because I never showed any of the signs.

    Inability to stop gambling.  Why would I want to stop? I was winning.Betting bigger . . . . .