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Terminate MRod.
Okay, so last weekend I posted about how I sent my beloved cell phone accidentally through the wash cycle at the laundromat. It was completely dead. Needing my connectivity, I went ahead and quickly purchased a new one that afternoon. It hurt, don't get me wrong, in my heart and in my wallet. But it had to be done.
Today on a whim I decided to turn on that old water damaged phone. This is what I saw:
The gold pimplicious phone on the bottom is the water damaged, no good, dead, finis, in cell phone heaven phone. The gray one above it is the replacement.
IT'S A CELL PHONE MIRACLE! IT'S WORKING! IT'S ALIVE!!! And there was also a text message there. Hm, what could it say?
...What...the...fuck... My phone is literally alive. It's sentient. It somehow came back from the dead, evolved to a higher level, and gained consciousness. And maybe it's just me, but that message seems awfully passive aggressive...and HAL-esque. HAL was one nutso computer dude with that soothing voice, and we saw what it ended up doing to those astronauts. Also, minorities always seems to be the first to go in those sci-fi thriller films. I know it's just a phone, but I'm not going to be some Hollywood minority archetype. No Event Horizon for me. No,sir. I'm definitely taking the battery out of this crazy ass phone. But first let me retrieve the phone numbers of "Marquee Girl," "Money Cash ?," and "First and Fifteenth."
Unrelatedly
Today, on my way home I had a case of reverse-savantism and somehow forgot my ATM pin number. Yes, my brain that once solved complex calculus problems, analyzed SPSS data, and taught myself and crammed an entire college semester's worth of geology (yea, yea, Rocks for Jocks...) over the course of three sleepless nights, which with only attending a few classes managed to pull of an A. HOLLER. This same brain somehow between the DeKalb and Atlantic-Pacific subway stop forgot the four number sequence that I have been inputing once a week over the past...four plus years. I am an idiot.