A Padded Cell. (I phoned in this one.)
http://uhohnowlook.blogspot.com/2005/04/im-just-sayin2.html
Who doesn't love a good cell phone rant? And the above, my friends, is a good cell phone rant.
I go to the coffee shop to write. I take my cell, but asked my hubby to send me an IM instead of calling. Why? Because I know that the very sound of a ringing phone puts me on edge - and I don't want to inflict it on others when I can have the same conversation with my hubby more privately. I like my privacy. This is pronounced the way that Brits and Madonna would say it - priv (rhymes with "give") a-see)
I like quiet when I'm working. I cannot believe how many people allow their kids to run through the coffee shop. And the loud teens. (Look at me!! I have hormones!! I've hit puberty!! SEE ME!! LOOK!!! I am teenager, hear me roar!!) They are walking embodiments of that song by that old fart, Prince. Yes, Babies - you're all stars. Now shut the hell up!
And I rarely complain because I'm under the delusional that I'm not a cranky 30something. The other day there was a table full of "stars" though. One jokingly told another one to use their "inside voice." Several minutes later I felt compelled to ask what had happened to the whole Inside Voice thing.
"But... but ... you have headphones on!"
"Yes, I do! Headphones which usually block out sounds quite well."
"Oh? What are you listening to?"
"You, mostly. And this is my point."
As the books they handed out to us youngun's back in the seventies read, "Be Cool, Stay in School!" The kid on the cover had a big 'fro. A big Michael Jackson pre-sex change 'fro.
When I was in kindergarten we got a different book every week with the big glittery letter of the week on the front cover. And after we worked in the book we had milk and cookies. It was glorious! Wait ... what was I saying?
Right. Peace, Quiet. Less Cellphones. More quiet IMs and sign language. Possibly telepathy if you don't think too loud.
And the little children running around are just platforms for their parents' star trips. They get to talk loud and let you know what brilliant names they've inflicted on their kids. Usually the girls have pornstar names. And the boys have Rich Prick names. My belief is the coffee shop patrons should only know the names of their companions and the possibly the baristas if they aren't too cool for nametags.
Damn, now I want milk and cookies!
Who doesn't love a good cell phone rant? And the above, my friends, is a good cell phone rant.
I go to the coffee shop to write. I take my cell, but asked my hubby to send me an IM instead of calling. Why? Because I know that the very sound of a ringing phone puts me on edge - and I don't want to inflict it on others when I can have the same conversation with my hubby more privately. I like my privacy. This is pronounced the way that Brits and Madonna would say it - priv (rhymes with "give") a-see)
I like quiet when I'm working. I cannot believe how many people allow their kids to run through the coffee shop. And the loud teens. (Look at me!! I have hormones!! I've hit puberty!! SEE ME!! LOOK!!! I am teenager, hear me roar!!) They are walking embodiments of that song by that old fart, Prince. Yes, Babies - you're all stars. Now shut the hell up!
And I rarely complain because I'm under the delusional that I'm not a cranky 30something. The other day there was a table full of "stars" though. One jokingly told another one to use their "inside voice." Several minutes later I felt compelled to ask what had happened to the whole Inside Voice thing.
"But... but ... you have headphones on!"
"Yes, I do! Headphones which usually block out sounds quite well."
"Oh? What are you listening to?"
"You, mostly. And this is my point."
As the books they handed out to us youngun's back in the seventies read, "Be Cool, Stay in School!" The kid on the cover had a big 'fro. A big Michael Jackson pre-sex change 'fro.
When I was in kindergarten we got a different book every week with the big glittery letter of the week on the front cover. And after we worked in the book we had milk and cookies. It was glorious! Wait ... what was I saying?
Right. Peace, Quiet. Less Cellphones. More quiet IMs and sign language. Possibly telepathy if you don't think too loud.
And the little children running around are just platforms for their parents' star trips. They get to talk loud and let you know what brilliant names they've inflicted on their kids. Usually the girls have pornstar names. And the boys have Rich Prick names. My belief is the coffee shop patrons should only know the names of their companions and the possibly the baristas if they aren't too cool for nametags.
Damn, now I want milk and cookies!
posted by Nicolette at 5:00 PM
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