Everyone's got gremlins, right? Those little voices in your head that tell you you're a dumb ugly loser.
Mine have a sense of humor. They know me too well, they know that the way to get my attention is with a joke.
Here's what they're saying to me on the subject of writing:
"Those who can (those who can write) do. Those who can't, teach. And those who can't teach -- well, those poor saps write content management systems."
Of course, on the one-thousandth repetition it's not that funny anymore.
Just shut up.
And those who can't write content management systems -- they become editors.
When I was a kid we used to say -- here's a dime, call someone who cares.
Now you can't hardly find a phone booth that takes change. I don't know what they want, but I haven't got any.
You used to be able to walk inside phone booths and close the door. You couldn't do it without thinking of Superman. Or at least little boys always thought of Superman.
Nowadays you have to have a cellphone on your person at all times.
Resistance, however futile, is free for the first 40 minutes, then 10 cents a minute afterward, with no roaming charges.
Can you tell I went downtown yesterday?
Half the people on the crowded sidewalk are talking into phones. The other half are doing something electronic that I couldn't figure out.
I'm a modern guy, not a Luddite.
But wasn't it nice when you could walk down the street and be out of touch, and just know you're walking down the street, and it's cool, and there's nothing else to do at that moment. And you could maybe look at things that are pretty, buildings and shop windows and flowers, and hold your breath as you walk past the alley, and stand at the corner with all the different people while you wait for the light to change?
This is Mork calling Orson. Come in, Orson. Come in your fatitude.
Yes, please bring me home now.