Knowing my predisposed propensity for being a clumsy oaf, especially as I grow older and wider, I should not be at all surprised that a relationship which began a year and a half ago and has grown from awkward curiosity to an indispensable part of my daily life, has come to a crashing halt; shattered before my very eyes and I’m sick about it.
My smart phone has taken a three foot dive onto the pavement..leaving the glass screen looking like a tarantula’s living room.
My screen..like my heart..is broken.
I was a bit tardy getting to my recording session at Keloland Tuesday and, instead of safely tucking the phone in my coat or pants pocket, I slipped it into that open-ended hand warming pouch stitched to the front of all 100 hooded sweatshirts I own. (I live under the delusion that these somehow masquerade my massive girth..hence most are dark colored which we all know further fools people into thinking what a slim fella I am.) I have made this mistake before but always lucked out when the phone would fall out harmlessly onto the carpeted car floor. Not this time, though. It apparently got hung up on my Keloland parka and waited till I made the trip to a full stand before tumbling in slow motion to the asphalt below, landing on its back with a sickening splat. I looked down to see fingers of broken glass spreading across the screen like a June lightening storm on the South Dakota prairie.
Again, I wonder what words a minister or real Christian utters at such times as these.
I’m afraid that in spite of my promises to the Almighty to mind my mouth and my temper, the Ralphie Parker hubcap incident from “A Christmas Story” becomes reality for this old hypocrite at times like these and the “Oh Fudge” slips out because nothing else seems to express a feeling so accurately or satisfy so completely. (How could you be so stupid? Fudge. This screw-up will likely cost a week’s worth of groceries to make right. Fudge. Why were you too cheap to take out the insurance? Fudge.)
So, now I’m discovering that..based on the number of smart phone repair places I see on line, it’s apparent I’m not the only klutz in town. The thing is, none quote a price for replacing the glass screen which, as far as I can tell, is the only thing damaged to my Droid Razr.
Leave a comment if you have any recommendations.
February.
Nearly half gone already. I used to like February because it’s a short month and winter couldn’t end fast enough. Now, I’m not so sure. Time is on a fast track for some reason and I wouldn’t mind putting on the brakes a bit.
February also reminds me of the running friendly argument between Hemmingsen and me over the correct pronunciation of the month. He apparently had it drilled into his head at the Brown School of Broadcasting that it is pronounced as it’s spelled Feb-roo-ary. I prefer to pronounce it like most of the people in the world.. who don’t have a pretentious stick up their bum.. do. Feb-You-ary. I would even bring out Webster’s to prove that both pronunciations were acceptable and he would counter with, “Well, Webster just caved to pressure from the ignorant masses.” I tried to point out all the other words that don’t include the “r” sound in their spelling like surprise or governor. I reminded him that his Holiness, Walter Cronkite, pronounces it Feb-you-ary.
So, after building such a convincing case, my friend Steve Hemmingsen changed his mind right??
STEVE: “Most people say Nuke-you-ler instead of Nuke-lee-r are you gonna cave on that too? How about Eye-rack instead of Ear-rock..how about Real-ah-tor instead of Real-tor. Where do you draw the line?”
Nah, Hemmingsen will never change..nor would any of us who know and love the big lug want him to.
I think the only real reason he preferred the old English pronunciation was because it’s too difficult for the rest of us to spit out.
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skUfQYr47QQ[/youtube]
