I’m a clichéd 20-something, so my phone and I go everywhere together. We sleep next to each other, we road trip, we go out to bars. I’m a little worried it’s cramping my love life, but my phone can do more things than any guy I’ve ever dated and it doesn’t get all weird and accusatory when I ignore it or talk to other boys.
There’s a Mitch Hedberg joke that goes, “Sometimes in the middle of the night, I think of something that’s funny, then I go get a pen and I write it down. Or if the pen’s too far away, I have to convince myself that what I thought of ain’t funny.” Because my phone and I have fused together to become one socially awkward superhuman, I don’t have to worry about finding a pen in the middle of the night any more– I just type myself a quick note and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, there are two flaws in this system.
The Terrible Two:
1) Because I write things down as soon as I think of them and assume I will review them in the morning, I never give myself any context. Of course, I don’t look at them the next morning. I find them weeks or months later and have absolutely no idea where they came from.
2) At some point after 1 a.m., I lose my mind. Not only do I have no context for the notes– I also have no idea what some of them mean. They read like a description of a Salvador Dali painting.
When I was four, I had a conversation with my best friend’s brother, who was a few years older than us. I don’t remember how it started, but I do remember that he was bragging about all the cool things older kids could do.
My response to this was to say, “But you can’t shoot a cannon even if you wanted to, huh?” He had no comeback.
In his defense, if someone were to say the same thing to me today, I would also be at a loss for words. For some reason, to my four-year-old self, the ability to shoot a cannon was the mark of adulthood. When you’re responsible enough to man a heavy piece of war machinery, you’re responsible enough to be a grownup.
My friends and I whine about becoming grownups a lot. There’s just so much stuff you have to do and none of it involves cannons.
It’s April, which means it’s prom season again, and that means all of the sudden everyone wants to talk about high school.
We all know at least one person who is still hung up on high school. Talking to them is like listening to Springsteen’s “Glory Days” while watching a montage of John Hughes movie shenanigans. These are weird people, and those of us who spent high school writing resentful lists in our friend’s boyfriend’s old notebooks will go out of our way to avoid them.