Cell Hell


Last night, I watched the crowd during the show and I noticed a disturbing trend.

I call it C-P.A.D.D. Cell Phone Attention Deficit Disorder.

I sat at the rear of the show room, stunned at the number of people talking, looking at pictures, and checking their voicemail during the show.

Someone needs to write a book about cell phone etiquette before this kind of crass behavior reaches a new multi-task level of idiosy. I’m just not sure if anyone has an attention span long enough to read it.

How can we ever hope to attain any level of spiritual evolvement when we can’t stand to be alone with our own thoughts for more than 30 seconds.

“Dear God, I was wondering if… hang on, someone’s trying to call me on my cell.”

Here’s the problem. These phones have too many features. The cel phone is so complicated, I don’t think half the people who own them know how to shut them off.

As a performer, I feel that many of my best performances have been stymied by these little devices. How can I compete with somthing that takes pictures, movies, surfs the internet, checks email, tells me the time, date and weather, plays music and video games, wakes me up, plans my day, and writes my best friend a short cryptic message that only Prince would understand? (I will dY 4 U) I can’t think of anything short of sticking two Roman Candles up my ass, setting them ablaze and running in circles screaming, “the Eagle has landed!”

I don’t understand text messaging. You’re holding $300 worth of technology in your hand, you can talk to anyone in the world via satelite and you’re going to write me a letter?

Over the holidays I had someone text message me that Saddam Hussein had just been executed. I paid 75 cents for that? I didn’t realize I was on the death watch list or in the Saddam death pool.

Was he a bad man? Yes. He was a dictator. It’s no surprise that the word dictator has the word dick in it. But was he worth 75 cents of my hard earned money? NO! Why would you text me how the movie ends? It’s the ‘Titanic.’ I know the ending!

A few weeks ago, someone made a call right in front of me while I was on stage, so I took his phone and shoved it down my pants.

You’ve all been warned!

Here’s your thought for the day.

Does Martin Cooper; inventor of the cell phone, feel the same guilt that Oppenheimer must have felt after inventing the atomic bomb?

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