An Earful on an Earful

Whenever I see someone with one of those Bluetooth cell phone ear pieces, they always remind me of animals that have been tagged and released back into the wild. Except that instead of coyotes or deer, it's douchebags.

What's so great about the Bluetooth is that it assigns an absolutely comical urgency and importance to phone calls. As if owning a cell phone in the first place didn't do that job thoroughly enough. But, apparently, having a tiny phone that's on you at all times still isn't accessible enough! The thought process is, "I am on the phone so often! I simply do not have the time in between calls to even put the phone down, nor do I have the energy to continually hold my tiny phone up. Know what? I'm gonna just go ahead and attach this directly to my face!"

It's like sitting in your office with your hand on the phone receiver all day long, just waiting in a state of cat-like readiness for it to ring. And not being ashamed of how sad that is.

And it's not like the people who buy them need to have their hands unfettered (here, I'm thinking of the "hands-free holy trinity": air traffic controllers, sculptors and pizza makers) . They're just regular dudes who don't want to use their hands.

I was in the Men's Warehouse (And, by the way, if ever there was a classy name for a clothing establishment, they've got it covered. They should partner up with Dress Barn for the ladies and just call it a day) and the salesguy was wearing a Bluetooth. And it used to be that if you literally had your hands full - say, selling a suit - you couldn't also answer the phone. And I say thank
God those days are behind us.

It's really reassuring that technology is constantly finding ways to overcome the physical limitations of rudeness. I hope the next development is a Bluetooth that not only helps you ignore and annoy people, but also sprays mud on passerbys or sends out second-hand brain cancer waves in a 50 foot radius (ideally, both)! Let's raise them stakes!

If I ever get a Bluetooth (and I assume such a decision would come after some kind of adult-onset retardation), I would always be twirling two yo-yos, or working a cat's cradle or something. Just to make it seem like this technology has freed me up to all kinds of new activities!

In the meanwhile, I'll be walking around with a letter opener duct-taped to my hand - to let the world know in no uncertain terms that I'm the type of guy who gets urgent mail and lots of it.

I'm Smarter Than Martyrs

I've been thinking about the whole suicide bomber/Islamic paradise thing - and it's really weird that 72 virgins is their big reward for turning themselves into a Jackson Pollock.

I know virgins are pure and untouched and all that - but, by definition, they also know JACK about sex. And doesn't that defeat the whole purpose? What kind of sick joke is that? "Welcome to the eternal orgy! With all virgins!" It's like the twist ending of a Twilight Zone episode! Eternity? You're gonna need it, Casanova.

But it's actually a really telling contrast between our cultures - because the American guy's fantasy afterlife would be shockingly similar - it's just that the 72 women would all be sluts. Which makes infinitely more sense. If the whole goal of that deal is sex with lots of ladies, you want dirty, knowledgeable whores - not 72 women who are going to make you wait six months before they even let you feel them up. Thanks for the offer, Mohammed, but that sounds closer to hell.

So when I hear about a "martyred" bomber, it's comforting to know that even if he is somehow delivered to the promiseland, he still has a wicked case of blue balls.

Shame on You, Nintendo!

For my last birthday, my girlfriend gave me a Nintendo DS. Which means that, for the first time in about 15 years, I'm ferociously cursing tiny cartoon Italians for not following my controls more accurately. I pretty much assumed that I had outgrown that kind of game-provoked fury. But I'm 27 now and I still want to throw the thing against the wall when a fireball kills Mario and I have to watch him make that infuriating "Oh, I burnt-a my ass-a" face while the patronizing "doot doot doo doot doo doot doot" ditty plays. By the way, when it comes to signaling pathetic failure, that song is this generation's equivalent of the "wah-waaaaah" trombone riff.

What has changed, though, is the way I view the characters. Mario is still Mario, of course - but the Italian-as-plumber stereotype makes less sense than ever. I'm sure they were DYING to make him a pizza man - but felt that they could only get away with the absurd ethnic behavior (It's-a me!") by giving him a less stereotypical and more affluent career to make up for it. Like if Luigi were a staggering Irish drunk, but instead of being a pub owner, he was an orthodontist.

The most terrifying change in perspective, however, how I now view the abduction of the Princess. When I was 12 and would watch the evil, dinosaur-ish Bowser run off with her, I'd think "Man, I've got to rescue her from that villain!" Where as now, when seeing this grotesque, vaguely-human monster kidnapping the screaming bombshell, the first thought that goes through my head is "Holy shit, he's totally going to rape her!"

It makes the whole game so much more stressful and traumatic. Worst of all are the bonus boards where Mario plays a slot machine or something in order to win extra lives. While he's happily playing these games of chance, I know the poor princess is using a candelabra to keep that turtle-shelled dino-beast at bay. The only time I ever feel any peace is in between boards when I see her being carried off by an escaping Bowser to the next level - and at least I can see that she's ok.

It's supposed to be a mindless diversion - but instead it's a white-knuckled, stomach-knotting nightmare. After an hour of gaming, I feel like I've done 40 hours of social work at a battered women's shelter. And worst of all, I'd love to play Dig Dug again - but in light of the recent cave-in deaths of all those miners, I know I'd be hysterically crying before I even got a chance to read the title screen.