TEXTING THROUGH TIME AND POP CULTURE

Since the beginning of my stay up here, I have noticed and have been told by others that my text messages don't always arrive directly after I send them. I don't think I always receive them promptly either, surely due to the remoteness of local. What has perplexed me, however, is where these texts go before they make it to their destination. I have hypothesized a few possibilities.

First, I thought that maybe they are grabbed up by a Puckish digital imp playing cupid on the wireless waves, snatching up my texts and insidiously delivering them at two in the morning, attaching a context that greatly alters the intent of my message. For example;

My friend texts to tell me to look for her in the Price is Right audience, so my text of "What are you wearing? Are you on the bottom?" is perfectly appropriate if it was delivered promptly, Yet not when waking up her and her boyfriend at 3 am.

Or when I text my friend, "Wish I was there to munch your grindage. Hear you got some spread". That would have made sense if it arrived at his Super Bowl BBQ, not at 2:15 in the morning.

I am lonely up here, but not THAT lonely.

Another possibility is that they are lost in time, maybe finding a portal to the past. So if I text my friend, "Check out Feist on SNL", or "Catch My Morning Jacket on Current", they just might be receiving it months or even years earlier, thus inheriting a wealth of "Cool Currency" subsequently sending his or her IMDB star rating soaring, and as we all know, buzz bands touted carries more weight than your resume in Hollywood.  This hypothesis also finally provides a plausible explanation for Zach Braff's rise to stardom.  

(I was listening to The Shins for like 3 years before that shmuck. Really, I am THAT cool. If you don't believe me just listen to Jens Lekman, Sunset Rubdown, Mouthful of Bees, Professor Lacroix, The White Buffalo)

Still another possibility is the crossing of dimensions.  Maybe my texts venture through a vortex, venturing into simultaneous realities.  So when I text, "Yummy, yum. Just made me a tuna sangwich. even cut up little pickles. ROCK ON!!!",  it could in fact be arriving to my friend who in an alternate reality works in government intelligence and my words could be a coded message that sets off the invasion and occupation of Portugal, leaving me grief stricken by the cultural atrocity that is a Lisbon with Old Navy, Hot Topic, and Cinnabon.  Oh wait, that is THIS dimension; all is lost.  I mean, come on, Cinnabon? What an insult to baking and the circulatory system. 

                              

                               

         (This is actually a Cinnabon Jordan poster, even worse)

Finally, I have been thinking that my texts maybe find their way to a metaphysical plane, reaching the dwelling of the divine.  Just in case this is true, I have been using the opportunity to text all the pertinent questions.  "Why do bad things happen to good people?" "What comes after death?" and "Why do only little kid pajamas come with the foot booties attached? I would love some of those right now".  You wonder what number I have been using to text the Almighty, well lets just say when I get back to Hollywood I am not legally allowed within 175 feet of Morgan Freeman.

        

              

I don't know where my texts are going or when they will arrive, but please keep texting me.  I'm not going to stop texting you, deal with it Mr. Freeman. 

EDITORIAL CONFESSIONS

If purchased for me or my flight is delayed I will eat a Cinnabon;  If it is on Comedy Central at one in the morning I do watch Scrubs and laugh uproariously at JD; and my 3 am texts to my old roommate Dave are intentional.  When it is 25 below zero, desiring a spooning isn't considered gay, right? 

GRATUITOUS SIDEBAR

Since I am quite secluded, please let me know if my cultural references are current. The Shins and Morgan Freeman are still of the hook, right?

INSPIRING SIDEBAR 

Here is a lighter and less apocalyptic cabin fever video. Just as some people don't trust those who don't like animals, I don't trust people who can't enjoy The Muppets.

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