Cellphone Etiquette Revived

Im bringing this back just cuz I like it and it's my blog and not yours.

Cellphone Etiquette
Part II of the "How to Not Become a Mook" Series on Modern Manners
Originally posted August 29, 2007.

1. Just because I have a bad or old cellphone, doesn't mean you have to diss it or that I have to buy a new one. A phone is a phone.

2. The entire "i call you, you don't pick up, you get the missed call, then you call me back two seconds after I hang up" scenario has got to end.

3. Turn your mobiles off in any of the following situations:
a. sit-down restaurants
b. movie theatres
c. while dealing with cashiers
d. when you're on a date
e. class (for the love of God)
f. when in doubt

4. People without cellphones who borrow mine are annoying. Use a payphone next time.

5. If you choose to have an obnoxious or cheesy ringtone, don't turn it up to the maximum level and ignore rule 3(e).

6. Bluetooth headsets are for yuppie businessmen, balding Lebanese guys and not
you.

7. TXTing has its own sublist of etiquette:

a. one word txts like "yo," "whatever," "hey," or "damn," are entirely useless and a waste of 10 precious cents
b. on the other hand, remember that TXTing goes by another name; "SMS" or "Short Messaging Service". Make your point fast, or just call me, you Jew.
c. just because you send me a TXT doesn't mean I'm obligated to respond you anytime soon. Sending another TXT would just get on my nerves. A third strike would just result in you being deleted my list.
d. Back and forth TXTing like 6 or more times ought to be reserved strictly for cutesy couples who like to bring sunshine in each other's otherwise decrepit lives. Again, if the "Short" part of SMS just doesn't work with your intended communication, call, nitwit.

8. One (maximum two) missed calls is enough. I get it, you want to talk to me. But could it just so happen that I *don't* want to talk you?

9. Three or more missed calls, especially within the span of one hour, unless the situation absolutely calls for it, borders on stalkerism.

10. Please don't complain multiple times about "my shitty battery" or "my shitty network." Everyone's battery and network is shitty. No need for reminders.

11. When having a conversation, most especially during those precious "daytime" hours, keep it brief, to the point and try to end it before a minute.

i.e. ideal conversation:

Receiver: Yo.
Caller: Yo, I'm done work at 6, where you at?
Receiver: I'm at work. I'll be done at 7. I'll meet you in front of Cote-Vertu at 7:30 if you wanna chill.
Caller: Aite, peace.
Receiver: Peace.

See? That should've taken no more than 20 seconds.

i.e. more common, less ideal conversation:

Receiver: Yea.
Caller: Hey, what's up?
Receiver: Nothing, bro, chillin'.
Caller: Fo' sho.
(...Lull)
Receiver: What do you want?
Caller: What?
Receiver: Why did you call?
Caller: You know, just to see what's up.
Receiver: Yea, I just told you. Nothing.
Caller: Chill. So you wanna do something?
Receiver: Like what?
Caller: I don't know.
Receiver: You wanna go out tonight?
Caller: Um, I don't know, I'm busy tonite.
(...Lull)
Receiver: So what the f*ck?
Caller: Yea... yo, you hear about what happened at the club last night?
Receiver: No.
Caller: Oh, it was crazy, man.
Receiver: Okay, great. Yo, daytime minutes, I gots to go.
Caller: What?
Receiver: Daytime minutes.
Caller: Oh, don't you got a plan?
Receiver: I do. But daytime isn't free.
Caller: Who you with?
Receiver: Yo, peace, peace.
Caller: Aite bro. I'll call you back.

Three and a half minutes of each of your lives spent and not a damn thing solved.

Let's try and keep these rules in mind, next time you hit
"Send."

*

=//Turnquest

True Faith

I feel so extraordinary
Something's got a hold on me
I get this feeling I'm in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
I don't care 'cause I'm not there
And I don't care if I'm here tomorrow
Again and again I've taken too much
Of the things that cost you too much
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun...

When I was a very small boy,
Very small boys talked to me
Now that we've grown up together
They're all taking drugs with me
That's the price that we all pay
Our valued destiny comes to nothing
I can't tell you where we're going
I guess there was just no way of knowing
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun...

I feel so extraordinary
Something's got a hold on me
I get this feeling I'm in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
The chances are we've gone too far
You took my time and you took my money
Now I fear you've left me standing
In a world that's so demanding
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun...

Sumner/Hook/Gilbert/Morris

Five Awful Years

Does anyone look back at these five years and realize just the godawful disgusting truth of what's happened?

I honestly believe that with 170,000+ American troops and thousands more from the Coalition of the Willing still occupying the less-than-sovereign nation of Iraq, we as objective intelligent observers do not have the hindsight nor the chronlogical distance to comprehend the psychosis of the times.

A President and his administration walk free, furthering lies that have been disproven years prior, while the blood-stained truth is splattered across television screens, computer monitors and the sands and streets of Iraq.

Worse, we have a media that refuses to cover a war that rages on, thereby implicitly promoting the idea amongst average people that Iraq is either not a problem anymore, or that the war is over. Neither of which are true, of course.

Instead, we are force-fed 24 hour coverage of blowhard know-nothings ranting about superdelegates, poll numbers and speculation about a contest that won't matter to the thousands of Iraqis and hundreds of soldiers who will die between now and November 4 (Election Day, in case nobody told you), let alone January 21, 2009 (Inauguration Day).

So what is there to do except sit around and regret, write whiny blogposts from the comfort of one's home and go about our daily lives? For the dead, there is nothing we can do, except pray. For the living, I don't presume to tell you how to express yourselves in regards to the war. The options are out there, some simple and practical; some not quite so.

I choose the easy, practical method because I am no soldier, no mujahideen, no Iraqi and no rich, influential member of the world elite. Nor am I even an active member of any so-called peace group, not that the international peace movement has accomplished anything at all with regards to Iraq. In fact, this war and the five years it has dragged on is the biggest stain of failure for the peace movement. With all your protests, flyers, documentaries and books, all you have accomplished is for naught and the dead are still dying.

Besides myself and my generation, I choose to pick another target of my scorn and hate.

American people, I blame you. Sure, now you may be out waving Obama signs around or donating your meagre non-foreclosed savings to Hillary. And shit, you say you voted Gore and Kerry in the last two elections.

But whether you voted for W or not, he is your President.

The Congress that approved hundreds of billions of dollars of blood money is yours. The media that pulled the biggest lie in history is yours. The arms manufacturers, multinational corporations and impotent peace groups are all yours.

You say you have a democracy, whereby representatives are elected to represent the will of the people. The oft-repeated quote from President Lincoln's Gettysburg Address "A government of the People, by the People and for the People," is testament to this. Yet you refuse to recognize that this is a two-way street. You say that you are a democracy, and yet when your government invades another state, you throw your hands up and plead "It's not us, it's the government."

No...it's not "the government," ladies and gentlemen, as if it's some kind of foreign entity. It is *your* government.

Look, I understand that you're all drugged with sex and TV and celebrities and school, work and money. Traffic. Mortgages. Babysitters. Walking the dog. A lot of shit gets in the way of you being able to do something. But if you, American people, really wanted to kill this war, you would have done it by now. But you don't. And the more this thing drags on, the dirtier your faces are, the less respectable your voices seem and the bloodier your hands become.

Take responsibility. Replace your leaders. Prosecute the war profiteers and murderers. Fight the hawks and neocons. And for the love of all things holy and sacred: leave the Middle East and never come back.

I implore you, do something, or someone far more insane and angry than I will.

=//Turnquest

Three Links

Three Articles

Hillary's Math Problem -
http://www.newsweek.com/id/118240
(shows you why there's no way in hell she's going to win the nomination)

Party Like It's 1929 -
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/21/opinion/21krugman.html
(Krugman's columns about the economic crisis are all excellent and he knows what's up)

Will Canada Catch What's Ailing U.S. ? -
http://finance.sympatico.msn.ca/savingsdebt/johncaspar/article.aspx?cp-documentid=5663227
(Laymen's terms on the crisis from a Canadian perspective)

=//Turnquest

Indian Girl

On the lighter side of things:

INDIAN GIRL TD BANK IN POINTE CLAIRE ON HYMUS

http://montreal.kijiji.ca/c-personals-missed-connections-INDIAN-GIRL-TD-BANK-IN-POINTE-CLAIRE-ON-HYMUS-W0QQAdIdZ41470106

Girls, on the behalf of males, I apologize for some of our lesser, more neanderthal brethren.

=//Turnquest

The Journey After Death

Excerpted from http://www.lutonmuslims.co.uk/kdeth.htm :

It is reported that al-Bara 'bin 'Azib said: "We went out with the Prophet SAW in order to participate in the funeral rites of a man from the Ansar. We arrived at the grave, but the inner chamber had not been prepared yet; so Allaah's Messenger SAW sat down facing the direction of the Qiblah, and we sat around him so attentively that it was as if birds were sitting upon our heads. He had a stick in his hand with which he sketched upon the ground. Then he began looking alternately to the heavens and to the earth, raising his gaze and then lowering it. Finally, he said two or three times, 'Seek refuge in Allaah from the torment of the grave.' Then he said, 'O Allaah, verily I seek refuge in You from the torment of the grave.' He repeated it three times, then he elaborated,

'Verily, when the believing servant is leaving this world and entering the next, angels from the heavens descend to him - their faces white with brightness like the sun and carrying with them burial sheets and scents from Paradise. They sit before him at a distance as far as the eye can see. Then the Angel of Death (upon whom be peace) comes to the person, sits at his head and says, "O good soul [and in another narration "O confident soul"], come out to your Lord's forgiveness and pleasure. "' [The Prophet SAW continued],

'There upon the soul flows out of the body like water flowing from the mouth of a water skin, and all of the angels between the skies and the earth supplicate for Allays blessing upon him. The doors of the heavens are opened for him, and the keepers of these doors [i.e., the angels all plead with Allaah that this soul might pass in front of them as it is being carried upward. The Angel of Death barely receives the soul in his hands, whereupon the other angels take it from him and wrap it with fragrant winding sheets. This is what is meant by Allaah's saying,

"Our messengers [i.e., angels] seize his soul, and they do not fall short of their duty."'

Then the Prophet SAW said, 'There exudes from the soul a scent like the most beautiful fragrance of musk that one could find on the face of the earth. The angels ascend with the soul never passing a host of angels without hearing them ask, "Who is this wonderful soul?" They reply, "So and so, the son of so and so," addressing him with the best names he was known by during his earthly life.

Upon reaching the first heaven, the angels request that it be opened for the soul - which is granted The soul is then accompanied by the angels of each heaven until it reaches the one above it and finally arrives at the seventh heaven. Then Allaah, the Mighty and Majestic, says [to the angels], "Place the record of My servant in 'illiyyun."'

"And what will explain to you what 'illiyyun' is? [it is] a written record, witnessed by those brought near to their Lord." (83:19-21)

The person's record is then placed in 'illiyyun, whereupon a command is heard: "Return him to the earth, for verily I have promised mankind that having created them from the earth, I will return them to it. And l will make them come out of it, yet another time. " Then the soul is returned to the earth back into its body. Verily, the deceased hears the shuffling feet of his companions who attended his burial as they tam away and leave his grave.

Thereupon, two angels, severe in interrogation come to him, and sitting him up, they begin to ask him questions. They say, "Who is your Lord?" He replies, 'Allaah is my Lord. " They continue, "What is your religion?" He answers, 'Islam is my religion " They proceed with the questioning, saying, "Who is this man that has been sent to you?" He responds, 'He is the Messenger of Allaah SAW." Finally, they ask him about his deeds, to which he replies, 'I read Allaah's Book and believed in it."' (In another narration the Prophet SAW indicated that the angels ask, "Who is your Lord, what is your religion and who is your prophet?" [Allaah's Messenger SAW explained that] this was the believer's last test, and it is what is meant when Allaah says,

"Allaah strengthens those who believe with a firm testimony in this worldly life and in the Hereafter."

The deceased answers, "Allaah is my Lord, Islam is my religion, and my prophet is Muhammad."
[The Prophet SAW then indicated, 'Upon the believer's answer to these questions], a voice is heard in the heavens, saying, "My servant has told the truth, so clothe him in the clothing of Paradise, spread for him the furnishings of Paradise, and open for him a window with a view of Paradise." Thereupon, he is engulfed by a breeze of fresh air and fragrance, while the expanse of his grave is extended before him as far as the eye can see.

There appears before him a man with a wonderful face and beautiful clothing, emitting a splendid fragrance. He says to the soul, "Rejoice at the news which will gladden you! Rejoice at Allaah's pleasure and His Paradise, whose joys and delights never end. This is the day which you were promised."

The deceased says to him, "And who are you, for your face bears glad tidings.?! " The figure answers, "I represent your good deeds; by Allaah, I've always known you to be quick in obedience to Allaah and slow to His disobedience. So may Allaah award you with good."

Then a door to Paradise is opened, and a door to the Fire is opened, whereupon his said to him [regarding the Hell fire], "This would have been your final abode had you disobeyed Allaah; however, it has been exchanged for this other abode [i.e., Paradise]. " When the soul sees what is in Paradise, he cries, "My Lord, hasten the arrival of the Hour [i.e., the Resurrection] so that I may be joined with my family and wealth."

There upon it is said to him, "Rest in tranquillity. "'

=//Turnquest

Deliverance at Thirty Below

Deliverance at Thirty Below

* * *

Snow turned to sleet as Liam ran down the side of the highway. It was only three in the afternoon, but the Montreal day had turned to virtual night in the midst of the blizzard. Traffic in the West Island was usually murder on a Friday but the storm had kept the drivers away. The entire city had been suffering through a string of blizzards unlike anything anyone had seen in decades.

"On ca calisee du stik global warming, fuck!" the boy of 19 screamed as yet another blast of stinging ice pellets showered on to his face. The wind turned the snow into formless waves on the road. He stopped walking and stooped over, ass into the wind and head bent low. It was no use trying to move forward with this gust. He had to wait until things were better.

Liam had waited for months for this day. Today was to be his driving test. Most of his friends had either already gotten their license, or forsaken the idea of cars and driving altogether, usually in the name of environmentalism. But as could was obvious on this awful day, Liam had no care for such righteous causes.

He had struggled slavishly all summer, working as an outdoor painter to save up the nine hundred dollars he now kept hidden in an old tin can on the top his dresser. That nine hundred dollars was going to be his ticket to freedom, to women, to purchasing a car. With a car, his life would change, he told himself repeatedly. The idea crept through his head when he fell ten feet off a ladder on to an asphalt driveway back in July, seriously injuring his back. It fueled him as he laboured, sweaty and shirtless, in +30 degree weather on the sides of houses in obscure Quebec villages. And it motivated him to try walking three kilometres in the middle of this storm. A car would save him from cranky homeowners, vindictive bosses, racist bus and metro operators.

Most importantly, thought Liam, it would save him from a life of hapless virginity.

On the side of the highway, he recalled a number of things as his mind battled to detach itself from its agonized physical shell. His shoes were regular old sneakers, not boots, he thought as he felt the chunks of melting snow soak into his socks. He remembered that he had said a taxi wouldn't be necessary for his journey, seeing as how the distance to the SAAQ on his city map didn't seem very long at all. An image of his mother's disapproving face, the one she used the most, drifted through his field of vision for a moment before being replaced with the impenetrable fog of white snow. He was reminded yet again of how conservative adults, and especially parents, were often right in their advice.

It was time to call a taxi, he thought.

He didn't want to get frostbite out here. Nor did he want to end up buried and dead under a pile of snow only to be discovered in late April once the last snowbanks melted. He could afford the 15$ or so a taxi would cost for the remaining distance. Thought resolved itself into action. He unearthed his cellphone from the debris in his pocket, and once again assuming the ass-out position, made the call.

"Taxi bonjour."
"Ouai? Une taxi SVP?"
"D'ou monsieur?"

He faltered. This was a hitch in his plans. Taking in his surroundings, Liam noticed he was now on an overpass. Some other highway ran underneath it.

"Sais pas, dans un highway."
"Au quelle autoroute monsieur?"
"Euh...je pense je suis sur la 20."
"OK, mais ou sur la 20?"
"Fuck, I don't know!"
"Please call us back sir. We don't send taxis out just to go drive around. Look at the weather, sti!"

He stuffed the phone back into his coat pocket and swore again. Now he was screwed. He hadn't seen a single taxi pass for the half hour he'd been walking since the bus dropped him off in the middle of a parking lot. He didn't know anyone who lived nearby. Another strong gust of wind. He tried in vain to pull his coat collar over his head. His toque and scarf were coated in snow and ice, and his unprotected hands were red from the cold. They didn't hurt, he realized, but that was most likely not because they weren't cold too, just that he couldn't feel them anymore.

He was facing a dilemma. The SAAQ offices closed by 4:30PM, and his test had been scheduled for 3:45. It had taken at least a dozen calls over the course of two months to secure his time slot. If he gave up now, it could be another month before he had his shot to fail the driver's test. If he tried to go on by foot, he might not make it.

There was a third choice. He hadn't expected it, but ascertaining his position on the overpass, he felt it come to him with the slow warmth of sunlight. He could just let whatever was supposed to happen, happen. He didn't have to fight anymore. The notion of surrender filled his body for a moment. Everyone has to die at some point. He'd probably make the news too. Dying offered the promise of warmth when there was none...

He began hyper-ventilating, realizing his proximity to the edge. If he simply stood still for another half an hour so, he would certainly be dead, or unconscious. The idea sent shudders through out his thin frame. How could someone freeze to death in this modern age, in this modern city? He cursed the illusion of civilization that had been fed to his generation. "We're all still goddam hunter-gatherers and Indians," he thought.

The gust stopped and now only the usual driving wind was tormenting him. Total isolation. No-one would hear his calls for help. His feet lost their feeling, his thighs scraped the inside of his jeans like sandpaper. Death approached. What had he gotten himself into?

And then, God saved him.

A taxi approached in the distance, its "vacant" light bright and shining like an angel. Liam stared at it through squinting, snow-crusted eyes. He wanted to be sure it was real before he'd start waving like a maniac and trying to leap out in front of it. His limbs didn't allow him to wait for very long though, and soon he was jumping up and down, a stranded survivor flagging down his would-be Messiah. The cab approached ever closer, only ten metres away now. Would it stop?

It did. He ran out, smashing through the snow bank on the side of the highway, depositing another mound of ice into his Adidas' kicks before opening its door and hopping in the back. The Middle-Eastern gentleman turned his neck and smiled. Liam smiled back. Whatever lesson he had hoped God was trying to impart on to him, he believed he had rightfully earned His favour through suffering. What should he learn from this incident? Patience? Hopefulness? Solidarity with his Nordic ancestors? Only the Most High knew. He was glad to take any and all of those lessons with him.

"SAAQ office s'il vous plait."
"Yes sir."

"Even the cabbies out here in the West Island spoke English," he thought to himself, still beaming. The Buick blasted wonderful, magnificent heat out of its vents as his grateful hands lapped it up. He was safe now. Death had been averted, at least for today.

=//Turnquest

Loving Democracy

Excerpt from NYtimes.com :

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/09/world/asia/09pakistan.htm

Behind the scenes, the United States is trying to dampen enthusiasm for Mr. Chaudhry, whom Washington sees as too much of a Musharraf opponent.

The United States ambassador, Anne Patterson, met with Mr. Zardari, and suggested that the Supreme Court judges except Mr. Chaudhry should be reinstated, said Shahbaz Sharif, a senior member of the Pakistan Muslim League-N.

In a meeting with Ms. Patterson this week, Tariq Mahmood, a former president of the Supreme Court Bar Association, said he told her that the United States should “appreciate the results of the elections” in which secular political parties received an overwhelming vote.

He said he told the ambassador: “My message was very simple: You love democracy, you live in a democracy, why do you want to deprive us? You are always supporting the dictator.”

Why indeed, Ms. Ambassador.

New Links

If you haven't noticed, I've been tinkering with the list of links to the right of this paragraph you're reading. There are new ones, some dead ones have been deleted, and the list is in a perpetual state of updation. (new word bonus).

Explore!