Of Ships and Shackles

Meet Capt. T.W. Johnson, the great menu-explorer, member of the Royal Society of Crackberry Users, the Order of Blackberria, and advisor to the King's Court on all things blackberry (queue the Mahler). On this fine day he is cutting a brazen path through the shark-infested waters of background changing. Moving his fingertips deftly and with graceful precision, he navigates his trackball safely through the treacherous Pass of Word, keeping a close eye on Cape Lock. Without warning a dangerous Error serpent appears in front of his vessel. It is not often that fear becomes a tangible substance, but on this day it was palpable. Signal is sent from the bridge to the engine room, ordering more power. Brawny men equipped with masterfully efficient buckets pour gallons and gallons of Caffeine into the highly sophisticated combustion engine. The results are instantaneous, hurtling the ship forward with such tremendous force one might think space-time was torn. It is at this very moment that the captain utilizes his new power, initiating a hard 60 degree turn to the port side, then reversing direction 120 degrees starbird. He deked the evil serpent! Another valiant maneuver from the heroic Capt. Johnson. Surely books will be written about this!

Rrrrrrrrrriiiiiggghhhht. If only fiddling with a Blackberry for four hours were even one tenth as epic as that. I mean, four hours is a long time. In four hours an intrepid photon can travel from Earth to the edges of our solar system, a young couple can fuck each other into the stratosphere, and the players in the company of Life and Death can yet again act out their tragic-comedy in the hospital emergency room. Me, I spent it fiddling with my Blackberry in a coffee shop in the middle of summer. A bright August day. Riveting. All the while I couldn't help but feel that I was simply distracting my mind, or rather, distracting enough of it. Both joy and sadness have been relegated to but minor roles in the name of technology. Unfortunately, like all of my more insightful thoughts, this one was but a shadow of intuition swimming beneath the cold, murky waters of my mind. Shallow enough to be seen, yet deep enough to remain a shadow.

As time unfolds in is typical, linear manner, an odd glossiness begins to fall over my eyes. Methinks I should look like a bovine-man, eyes as vacant as the vacuum of space. No, even space has dust and light within it. More vacuum-y than a vacuum. A logical impossibility, I know, but to paraphrase a great philosopher, the logic of the heart does not always follow the logic of the stars.

Something even stranger begins to unfold: a feeling of anxiety starts to worm its way into my chest, insidiously spreading like a cancer of the heart. Like a crab in a tub of water, slowly heated to the point of boiling, its spread is so gentle one hardly notices it until it is present in full force. Much like the ill-fated crab, one does not resist it.

This cancer, this hypervaccuum existence is the effect of extreme materialism on my soul. It is a thousand voices whispering from the darkness to run from Madame Materiel's vain pursuits, and one gigantic shackle holding me back. An oddly cell phone-shaped shackle. Must be a new design.

Yet the strangest thing about this whole situation is that I begin looking at newer, prettier cell phones on my laptop. Resigned to the shackle, I have become obsessed with how much bling I put on it. Perhaps that will signal to the group that my lot in life is not so bad. I mean, if it shines so bright that people can't actually see the shackle, does it really exist? What if it fell in a forest? “Hey guys, check out my awesome Mercedes-shaped shackle. It goes 0-60 in 2.4 seconds, has heated seats, and best of all it doesn't leave any raw marks on my ankle!”

Eventually it becomes clear that I need to start getting rid of some of these shackles and start running. Hopefully Mme. Materiel hasn't hidden one of those electronic dog-collars on me...