Beloved Samsung, May It Text In Peace

Switch-on: September 2005
Switch-off : December 19, 2008

My cell phone died this morning. I’m comforted in knowing there was no struggle or pain. I'm sure it went peacefully.

I keep remembering our last moments together...the last time I dialed out, the last text I sent, the last time I checked movie showtimes... It really gets me in the gut, but I’m glad we had such a good life together.

That old Samsung was good to me. I flipped it up and I flipped it sideways. I dropped it on the floor. I dropped it in the sink. It got nicked and scraped countless of times, but that old phone was faithful.

I get choked up when I look back. When I think about how I could have spent more time on it, just taken better care of it.

Everybody says that I will move on, that I will find another. They may be right, but for now, the loss is just too fresh. Really, it’s almost more than I can bear.

When it’s meant to be, the right phone will come along. I know it will. But for now, if you need to reach me… try smoke signals, messenger pigeons or the Pony Express…if those don’t work, just call me at home.

Ahh…books

I’ve been scrounging around for some great new reading, without much luck. Since devouring the absolutely fantastic Twilight series just in time to see the not-so absolutely fantastic movie, the pickings have been mighty slim. In this book drought, I think I’ll just dust off a couple of my girlhood favorites—revisit the places where the love affair first began.

Anne of Green Gables
by L.M. Montgomery. I first caught this as a movie on PBS. I drove my family to such madness by hogging our only TV whenever it was on, that finally my daddy went out and found the books for me. I can't say what it is about a little redheaded orphan from PEI that touched me so. But we’re kindred spirits, she and I, and I have the collected works to prove it.

Constance: A Story of Early Plymouth
by Patricia Clapp. When I was a fifth grader at J.E. Harper Elementary School, my teacher used to choose books for the class (talk about book censorship). We’d dutifully line up and pick a teacher-approved reading off this rickety library cart. Once, ALL of the Judy Blume books were gone by the time it was my turn; somebody else got to read about Margaret’s search for God inside her training bra. I got stuck with a tale about a girl living in early Plymouth…and it’s one of the best stories I ever read.

Jane-Emily
by Patricia Clapp. This book scared the holy sh*t out of me. A girl moves into a house where another little girl dies and foolishness goes on—straight haunting style. I don’t know if I’d recommend this one for young readers, but man, oh man, was it good.

Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret
and just about anything else by Judy Blume. There wasn’t much in the way of African-American literature for a little black girl bookworm in 1980s elementary school. But Margaret and Deenie and all the others helped me make it through. If I ever have a daughter, Ms. Judy will certainly take a place of high honor on her bookshelves.

Honorable mentions go to:
Sassy, brave Ramona
Nosy Nancy Drew
The Sweet Valley High twins
Jo and Beth and Meg and Amy…and dear, dear Laurie

The Return

Gloria is back. Her return was heralded at 7 a.m. this morning with a vat of perm and some rollers.

It felt like slipping into an old familiar pair of shoes. The scents, the sounds and the sass of the shop felt like homecoming. In the chair, in the bowl, under the dryer...and away we go.

It had been a year since Gloria last was seen. When the stylist turned the chair around, there she was...a little shinier, a little more mature...but it was her.

We're back in business, and that's a good place to be.

I'm a Georgia Voter

I'm not known for my sunny morning disposition; quite the opposite, in fact. But give me a great cause...some powerful motivation, and I can rise and shine with the best of them. This Election Day, that’s exactly what I did.

I was up and dressed well before 6 a.m. so that I could get to my polling place early and beat the predicted crowds. Apparently, 100 or so of my neighbors had the same idea, and I arrived at the precinct to find a pre-dawn election party in full swing. There were stadium chairs and blankets, voters were sharing coffee and doughnuts with those of us who lacked the foresight to bring our own, and when that ran out, quite a few people made cappuccino runs to the convenience station nearby.

There was an energy and celebration in the crowd that made me finally get it…THIS is what 40 years ago was all about. I saw the elderly standing patiently with their walkers and canes, and then graciously accepting jackets or chairs from young black men in full hip hop regalia. Those same men, who asked awkwardly but without shame, how to operate the voting machines inside. They were there, baby, and there was no turning back. Now, watch them yugh!

And when it was time, when the 7 o’clock hour approached, every person there gathered their things orderly and expeditiously -- in a way that most think black people can’t -- straightened their shoulders and stepped through the polling doors, right into a place in history.

This is the day.

Ex the Text

I don't know when it happened, but somewhere along the way good old traditional telephone communication went the way of snail mail. And I have to say, while I don't miss licking stamps, I'm pissed about the text talk.

It is not, nor will it ever be, appropriate to have important relationship discussions via cellular technology. Sending me HEY U messages every morning is not the same as a wakeup call. It just doesn't induce my panty-dropping mechanism. And given the fact that umm, words are my profession, said texters lose even more cool points for piss poor spelling!

IDK...SMDH...RFLMAO...

What is that, anyway? Yiddish? Morse Code? I speak the honest to God truth when I say I have had to Google some of the text messages I get.

For the record, SMDH means Shaking My Damn Head. And that's just what I do when people start with the textversation.

A text from him: wz thinkin I would fly up 2 C U this wknd. Whatchu got up.

My response: Busy.

In the time it took him to misspell two sentences, he could have called. In fact, he should have. I bet if we timed it, he could speak those words faster than he typed them.

It's sad times when we've all become too busy to just pick up a phone, and say Hello. But I gotta run, so...TAFN. TTYL.

LOL.

Funny

Sarah Palin makes my teeth hurt

Any day where the nation’s collective attention is focused almost solely on Sarah Palin is just going to suck. So, when I broke a molar around 4 p.m. last Thursday, it’s no more than I should have expected for the day.

It was just like any other day at the office. Until I bit down onto some snack nuts and the earth shook. Or, at least my jaw did. Something happened.

I made an emergency doctor’s visit for Friday a.m. (which I’m still too traumatized to talk about), and headed home to get ready for the Biden-Palin debacle. Later that evening, I doped myself up with some Aleve—partially because of the tooth, but mostly in prep for Palin watching—and settled down for what had to be the single most lacklustre non-event of my entire human existence.

Did that debate really not happen right before my eyes? Did I waste away precious seconds of my life watching Palin neatly sidestep any attempt at real engagement by the moderator and Dem. VP candidate Joe Biden? Please tell me it was the drugs. Somebody please tell me I did not see what I think I know I saw. (How's that for Palin-speak?)

I am more frustrated with this woman than any minimally intelligent person should ever be. I want to like her. Lawd, knows I do...but, I just can't. I am over her. I cannot believe that she chose not to answer one single question directly. Over and over and over again. Nothing happened.

I can’t wait for November 4. That day, when she asks Americans to vote for the McCain-Palin ticket, I hope they’ll all take a cue from little ole Sarah…redirect the nation’s attention to something else, preferably a vote for Obama.