2003-11-08

�And you know what else I hate? (I should really start all my entries that way; just cut out all the extraneous preamble and get to the chase.) I hate hands-free cell phone sets � you know, those get-ups with the dangling microphone? Because first of all, that dangling cord just looks retarded � it looks as though you�ve forgotten to plug in your head. Mostly, though, I hate them because they�re making it hard to tell the crazies from the jerks.

Jeremy, I happen to know, thinks of hands-free phones as some sort of paragon of ergonomic design: the natural next step towards the seamless integration of technology and instinct. I don�t disagree, exactly, but I pride myself on being able to render near-instant judgments of anyone I meet on the street, and hands-free phones are seriously fucking up my jazz. These days, when I see someone walking alone and carrying on an animated discussion with the air, I have to hesitate before I can decide whether to mutter �fucking psychopath� or �fucking asshole�. That is WASTED TIME. That is time I could otherwise have spent contemplating my innate and effortless superiority to vast swaths of the human race.

Also, do we really want to be camouflaging the crazies? Do we really want everyone and their dog walking around looking like at-large mental patients? What�s next � Prada tinfoil hats? Imagine, if you will, the chagrin of spotting what appears for all the world to be a simple case of raging lunacy � someone waving their arms in the air and cursing an unseen assailant � and THEN, after you�ve helpfully grabbed them by the face and screamed �I COMMAND THE DEMONS THAT PLAGUE THIS MAN TO COME OUT! OUT, I SAY!!!�, like any concerned citizen would do, discovering that the supposed lunatic was not a madman at all but merely an irate stock jockey. HOW EMBARRASSING. Fuck you, Ma Bell � fuck you, I say!