I know what 96 degrees feels like and boy, I'm telling you it feels hotter than 96 degrees outside right now.
I'm of course, talking about cell phone suicide.
Cell Phone Heaven
Mine jumped off the top of my Jeep last last night and in to traffic. I would like to write this off as mistake or me being forgetful. But I can't. I can't deny the fact that the day I ordered a Palm Treo 700P my old phone jumped to his death.
I feel like I drove him to his death and for that, I'm sorry. I'm also sorry that he committed this act before I could get all my old numbers off the phone. I'm also really, really sorry that he might have survived if it wasn't for a Gamecock fan driving an Expedition who ran directly over him at high speeds despite the fact I was waving my arms on the side of the road and pointing directly at his injured frame.
I hate the Gamecocks.
"Sometimes you eat the bar, and sometimes, well, he eats you."
Maybe you're being pressured into watching the 'Lake House' this weekend. Maybe you'd prefer not to attend this crap movie. Make a deal, dinner and dramatic reading of Stephen Hunter's review. Everyone will be happier.
"The Lake House" has the sensibility of something conceived by Stephen King after an overdose of chocolate-covered cherries and valentine cards. In other words, it's sugary sweet and based on a premise that's just -- no other word will do -- ridiculous.
It's like "What would happen if trucks turned into monsters?"
And if you say, "Well, you know, trucks probably wouldn't turn into monsters," you're hopelessly lost.
"Lake House's" variation on the absurd premise is as follows: What would happen if a rural mailbox turned into a wormhole in time so someone from 2004 could communicate with someone from 2006?
And it's no defense to say, "That would be unusual behavior for a mailbox."