Addiction

Mr. MarthaWho got hisself a Crackberry last week. Because, you know, even with our two land lines, one VOIP line, two cellphones, four computers and the fully wireless internet enabled home, he just wasn't reachable enough. Now, with the Crackberry permanently cemented in a John Wayne like holster at his side, his boss can call to discuss TPS reports during the handful of instances during which this was not previously possible. How did he live before he could communicate with the other Crackberry Cowboys while driving our daughter to school, taking a dump, or sleeping? Praise the baby jeezus for wonders of technology!

We are just making ourselves entirely too findable it seems.

I was traveling last week for work, and on my flight home sat next to one of those cellphone user-abusers. Oh you know who I'm talking about. Here's a random sampling of the six (yes, SIX) phone calls he made while we were on the plane:

Call #1
Time: 5:30PM, 25 minutes to departure.
CELL PHONE ABUSER:
Hi Honey, it's me. Sorry I missed you. It's 5:30 and I just wanted to let you know we boarded the plane. 'Kay.... bye.
MARTHAWHO's commentary:
OK -- so that's cute. Mr. Power Suite guy is checking in with his wife just to let her know he is on his way home. We've all done that.

Call #2
Time: 5:55PM, pilot has informed us we'll be 5 minutes late for take off.
CELL PHONE ABUSER:
Hi Honey, it's me again. It's about 5:55 and we're supposed to be leaving now, but the pilot said we'll be another 5 minutes on the ground here. Will keep you posted.
MW's commentary:
Is your wife a schedule nazi or an air traffic controller? Does she care you're running 5 minutes late?

Call #3
Time: 6:07PM
CELL PHONE ABUSER:
Hey. Just wanted to let you know we're about to take off. So I guess I'll be landing a few minutes late. I'll call you when I land.
MW's commentary:
Dude. She gets it. Five minutes late. You already told her that. She doesn't care. Now turn off your cell phone before you get kicked off this plane.


Call #4
Time: 7:38 PM
CELL PHONE ABUSER:
Hi -- did you get my messages? Where were you? Good. Well we just landed. No, I'm not in the car yet. We JUST landed... as in we are taxiing to the gate now. OK. I'll see you in a bit.
MW's commentary:
Words cannot describe how annoying it was to watch you sit with your cellphone in hand for the last minutes of this flight, with your finger poised over the power button, waiting for the flight attendant to clear cell phone usage again.

Call #5
Time: 7:40PM
Hi hon. Me again. There's a plan waiting to depart from our gate. Should be taking off soon so hopefully we'll pull up to the jetbridge in a few minutes.
MW's commentary:
Well, you did set up an expectation when you called her right when we landed. Probably a good thing to call her and adjust that expectation by 3 minutes.


Call #6
Time 7:45PM
Finally off the plan -- walking to get my bag now. Anything you want me to pick up on the way home?
MW's commentary:
Hey asshat, two questions: 1. How many more times you are going to call her before you walk in the door? and 2. What cellphone plan are you on? I need to switch to the one that has as many everytime meaningless minutes as you're burning through.

Seriously folks. How about a "power down" holiday -- one day where all the crackberries, cellphones, pagers and computers are shut down for 24 hours...?

Un-Conditioner Love

SETTING:
MARTHAWHO's home, 6AM. MARTHAWHO has taken a shower but has no time to dry her hair because DAUGHTER is awake and crying in her crib to get out. (MR. MARTHAWHO is traveling for work). MARTHAWHO walks into DAUGHTER'S room half dressed with her hair dripping all over her clothes.

MARTHAWHO:
Good morning, monkey.

DAUGHTER:
Mama!

MARTHAWHO picks up DAUGHTER who looks at MARTHAWHO's ridiculous hair curiously.

MARTHAWHO:
I know I look funny. We're just running a little late and Mommy didn't have time to dry her hair.

DAUGHTER:
(patting MW's head encouragingly)
That's OK Mommy. Mommy's hair is sooooooo pretty.


CURTAIN.

Where's Whoopi Goldberg When You Need Her?

About three weeks ago I was walking my dog in the historic cemetery in our 'hood. We usually stick to the main path which has the most recent graves, bearing dates in the 1900-1970 range or so. (We stick to this path because it is wide and I know he won't pee on any headstones). For no particular reason, on this particular day, Mercury was hell-bent on running up this one particular hill to sniff at one particular grave in the not so recent section of the cemetery (graves bearing the dates in the 1700's and 1800's). I could not pull him away, so I followed him thinking we'd find a squirrel or something edible that he was tracking on. Instead he led me directly to the gravestone of the woman who built the house I live in. I did not even know she had been buried in this cemetery.

We live in an historic home in an historic district. The previous owners of our house did an enormous amount of research on the history and fought a successful battle to be recognized by the landmarks organization in our area. As a result of their efforts, we have a little plaque on our house that bears the name of the spinster who built and lived in our home nearly 2 centuries ago. Among the various papers and items the previous owners bestowed upon us when we moved in, was a small photo of the way the house looked 100 years ago or so. It's a tiny photograph, and it was nailed to a wall in the entryway of the house. We left it there upon moving in.

A few days after Mercury found Polly Porterfield's grave, I was standing in the kitchen and I heard a pop. I turned around and the photograph of the house had flown -- not dropped -- across the entry way and was laying near the front door -- a full 5 feet or so away from where it had been hanging for who knows how many years.

Last night when I came back from rehearsal, my babysitter said had been hearing knocking noises and asked jokingly if we had a ghost she should know about. I sat down and was about to tell her the stories of the grave and the photograph falling down... and the second I said "Actually, I think we DO have a ghost!" the television suddenly snapped off. Neither of us were near the television or the remote control. And nothing else shut off with it... lights were still on, the DVR and other electronic items in the TV cabinet were still on.

We both kind of laughed it off nervously.

This morning the babysitter called to tell me she's sick and can't come tonight. Taking bets as to whether or not she'll ever come back. Until I know for sure, I need to find a last minute babysitter for tonight.

Maybe Polly Porterfield has no plans?

Two, Going on Fifteen: A Friday Morning Short Scene

SETTING:
8AM, The entryway of MARTHAWHO'S home. The day of MW's DAUGHTER's birthday party at school (her real birthday is not until Sunday). MR. MARTHAWHO is outside putting the Care Bear Cake and plates and napkins in the back of the car, and MARTHAWHO is getting DAUGHTER ready to go.

MARTHAWHO:
Okay, there.... first one arm... and then the other. Now turn around so I can zip you up.

DAUGHTER turns around and gives a cheezy smile.

MARTHAWHO:
You're going to be TWO this weekend!

DAUGHTER:
(clapping)
Yaaaaaaaay

MARTHAWHO:
And today you're going to have a party to school, and everyone is going to sing Happy Birthday to you!

DAUGHTER:
Yaaaaaay! Happy Birthday to Meeeeeeee!

MARTHAWHO:
Hey... look at Mommy, I want to tell you something.

DAUGHTER looks at MARTHAWHO.

MARTHAWHO:
Can I tell you something?

DAUGHTER:
(earnestly)
Okay.

MARTHAWHO:
I'm so proud of you -- you're going to be two years old and you're so much fun. I love you so much!

DAUGHTER:
NO!!!!!!!!!

DAUGHTER lunges at MARTHAWHO and tries to scratch her face.

DAUGHTER:
No!
No, no, no, no, no, NO!

MR. MARTHAWHO enters from outside, oblivious to the conversation that has just taken place.

MR. MARTHAWHO:
Okay, little tyke, let's go.

DAUGHTER:
Daaaaaaddddy!

MR. MARTHAWHO picks up DAUGHTER and heads for the car.

MR. MARTHAWHO:
(to DAUGHTER)
Say, "bye bye, Mommy... I love you!"

DAUGHTER, from MR.MARTHAWHO's arms, turns around, bats her eyelashes at MARTHAWHO.

DAUGHTER
(as the door is closing, waves at MARTHAWHO)
See ya, Mama.


CURTAIN

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