Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: We were following a trackback and thinking "hmmm... this is a bloody excellent post!", and then we realized that it was just part III of, well, three...Damn. I wish I'd written those.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: ...I just remembered that I found a new blog a short while ago, House of Eratosthenes, that I really like. I like his common sense approach and his curiosity when it comes to why people believe what they believe rather than just what they believe.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is an intriguing guy...[he] asks great questions and answers others with style, flair, reason and wit. On the blogroll he goes. Make him a part of your regular blogospheric reading. I certainly will.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is brilliant.
Common Sense Junction: Misha @ Anti-Idiotarian never ceases to amaze me. He keeps finding other good blogs. I went over to A.I. this morning for my daily Misha fix and he had found this guy named Morgan Freeberg in Fair Oaks, California, that has a blog, House of Eratosthenes. Freeberg says its "The Blog That Nobody Reads" but it may now become the blog that everybody reads.
Jaded Haven: Good God, Morgan, you cover a topic from front to back with a screwy thoroughness I find mind boggling. I'm in awe of your thought proccesses, my friend, you're an exceptional talent. You start by throwing in the kitchen sink, tie in someone's syphilitic uncle, bend around a rip tide of brilliance and bring it all home in a neat, diamond dripping package of an exceptionally readable moment of damn fine wordsmithing. I love reading you.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
Philmon: When Morgan meanders, stick with him - he's got a point and it'll be worth it in the end. He's not a hit-and-run snarky quip kind of guy. The pieces all fall into place like tumblers in a lock and bang! He's opened a cognative door for you.
Rightlinx: Morgan at House of Eratosthenes is one of the best writers out there. I read him nearly every day because he manages to provide an interesting perspective, even though I don't always agree.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
This weekend I decided my answer to ManBearPig is WAGTOCPAN.
The woman and I drove up to the boy’s mom’s place, and dropped off the boy. Then we went on a shopping excursion which would be concluded in the evening at Wal Mart. In Folsom. On a weekend. And while I’m wondering, how is it I continue to be talked into this, I’m seeing WAGTOCPAN everywhere. There’s more of it than there was a week ago, more of it last week than there was a year ago. It’s got a chokehold on us, WAGTOCPAN does, and it’s going to eventually destroy us all.
I’m talking about Women And Girls Talking On Cell Phones About Nothing.
How is it any skin off my nose? Because WAGTOCPAN is freakin’ everywhere. The whole does more damage than the sum of it’s parts. It’s a form of pollution. There’s a kind of exponential or second-degree curvature to the damage they do; put more simply, it seems to take four times as long to cut through a crowd with twenty WAGTOCPAN, as it is to transcend a crowd with only ten WAGTOCPAN. Rudeness decides the Darwinism; the right-of-way goes to whoever seizes it, and the tendency is for the seizure to be done by whoever is female, and engaged in an electronic conversation elsewhere.
How do I know they’re talking About Nothing? I can see it in their eyes. People have a certain look on the face when they are saying, or listening to, important things. These girls aren’t showing it. They just aren’t. And then there’s the quantity. Quantity, you know, eventually defeats quality. It has to. I see five randomly-selected women in Wal-Mart, three of them are going to be gabbing away on a cell phone. With that glassy “not very important” look in their eyes. Five years ago, it would have been one outta five. Ten years ago, it would have been one outta twenty. Now…it’s a majority. And of course, if we had been shopping on Saturday, about ten to noon or thereabouts, it would have been more than that.
What the hell are all these women talking about? Are they a bunch of Jack Bauers, each one of them helping to interrogate a terrorist or defuse a bomb?
I’m just not buying it. They’re talking about crap. And you know, that’s just fine with me. To each their own, libertarian leanings and all. Except, there is that pollution factor. Walking through Folsom, or driving through Folsom, or doing-whatever through Folsom…lately, on a weekend, it’s like swimming through a hive of angry bees. Everywhere you look, WAGTOCPAN — blah, blah blah. In enormous gleaming metal vehicles. Looking where they’re going? Really?
They don’t appear to be. And they’re in command of awesomely heavy and hard objects on wheels.
And here’s something else to think about, something that leads me to believe it’s all about nothing. We’re in Folsom…land of gadgets. People just love to buy gadgets here, from the latest Lexus to the latest iPod accessory to the latest — you name it. Everyone wants to prove they have arrived. Folsom, where the price of your iced-coffee drink is drawn in large neat numbers on the dome of your plastic cup, so everyone can admire that you paid $4.75 for it. Folsom, the valley of “I’m Not Spoiled, Just Loved” bumper stickers.
A hands-free device costs between ten and fifteen clams. Mine was fifty, because it’s a bluetooth model; you can get it now, for half that much. But you don’t need bluetooth.
How come Folsom, land of the six-bedroom houses and jewel-encrusted cell phones, is flooded with so many women holding the appliances up to their ears? If it’s a serious conversation and they have to have it all the time, wouldn’t they eventually adapt to having it?
You know how scary it is to pass a woman in a big truck, on the left, when she’s holding a cell phone up to her left ear? And supposed to be paying attention to what’s going on?
Al Gore wants us to measure our “carbon footprints” and based on the size of same, feel guilty. Or buy something. Or both. (I think mine was 6.75 or thereabouts.) Seems to me it’s an idea right for other walks of life…like WAGTOCPAN. Oh, how I’d love to see an article appearing in a glossy magazine somewhere containing the words “According to experts, there are several things the average person can do to bring her WAGTOCPAN under control…”
I should hasten to add something. In all my years on the planet, I’ve seldom seen women-and-girls pick up a bad habit that wasn’t started by the guys first, and I doubt this is any exception. And I happen to know MABTOCPAN is indeed a problem. I’ve seen it happen. Furthermore…guys, it seems, are on balance far less decisive about what speed they want to drive, when they chatter on their cell phones. They chew someone out, they go faster, someone else chews them out, they want to slow down. But if I were to do a count of how many people are chattering away on their cell phones when they should be watching where they’re going — this is a female thing. I know the men are equally guilty, it’s just harder to catch them in the act because their conversations are shorter.
This is another reason I know the conversations are meaningless. Men and women have different habits with their social customs, but not with how they send and receive important messages. This has little to do with important messages; it’s a social custom. I’m serial. Super-duper-serial.
I just wish people, regardless of whether they wear skirts or trousers, would watch where they’re going when they engage in it. Now excuse me, I have to take this…
Update: As far as MABTOCPAN goes, here’s an example that borders on the surreal…
Timothy Michael Seibert was in the midst of raping a 49-year-old woman, according to police, when he answered a cell phone call from his wife.
The woman was so close to the phone she could hear Seibert’s wife yelling at him, asking him where he was and what he was doing, according to arrest documents filed by Silver Spring Twp. police.
See, gender doesn’t have a whole lot to do with it. The cell phone thing, in general…it’s just gotten way, way outta hand. “Hey, whaddya doin’?” “I’m watching a movie, this dude sitting next to me is getting really pissed about my cell phone.” “Yeah? Cool.” “What are YOU doing?” “I’m mugging some guy, getting ready to steal his car.” “Hey, cool.”
Cell phone calls of the “What Are You Doing” variety, have got to be the plague of our times. People who take such calls, have got to be on the most shallow end of the gene pool. Raping women is worse, of course. But taking a cell phone call about what you’re doing, and making a conversation out of it, is a crime in itself.
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