I Hate My Mobile

I begrudgingly bought my first mobile phone in 2000 after my boss dictated that I be accessible while traveling. Despite my resistance, I've generally come to accept and mostly enjoy having a cell phone. But for a ubiquitous communication tool, it amazes just how bad the mobile telephone experience still is.

Why is it that, in 2006, cell phone reception from my close-in urban house still sucks? How can it be that I can still have voice mails disappear into limbo for days? Why do calls still drop along Mo-Pac, the second busiest stretch of highway in Austin? And, most importantly, how is it not possible to block specific numbers from calling my mobile number?

On Tuesday, I fell victim to SMS spam for the first time. It started in the afternoon, when my phone starting buzzing every few minutes. A 347 area code number kept popping up, each time sending a text message. There was a pause after the first dozen, but then the floodgates opened and I was deluged with 46 repetitions.

I called Cingular, who's only answer to the problem was to completely shut off my SMS service. I guess they never heard the old Henny Youngman bit ...

Patient: Doc, it hurts when I do this (lifts arm).
Doctor: So don't do that!
Audience: Hilarity.

... because they weren't laughing when they said it. All of a sudden, all the IT flunkies who ever told you to reboot looked like diagnostic geniuses compared to Cingular.

Now I'm stuck in no-text hell, partly to avoid further irritation, but mostly because I'm too lazy to have Cingular turn the damn service back on.

Did I mention, I hate my mobile.

Downer Ballot

It's election day, so I've had one eye on the election coverage to see if W. gets the mid-term smackdown he has coming. Somewhat belatedly, I just finished Richard Clarke's 9/11 tell-all "Against All Enemies," sufficiently frothing my ire to vote against those who would sell a failed personal vendetta as successful counter-terrorism policy.

For better or worse, Lloyd Doggett has been un-re-gerrymandered back into my district (or is that vice versa?). Upside: I get to vote for a solid Dem that I like. Downside: No real Congressional protest vote for me. The best I could do was pee in Kay Bailey's breezy sashay back to another Senate term.

Perhaps I'll take some solace in the fact that my Governor will be elected with over half of the votes going against him. But it's no real comfort to know that those anti-Perry votes either went to a bland sacrificial Democrat, a tactless and content-free independent, or a woman who changes her name and party affiliation more often than her hairstyle.

Months ago, I thought it would be good to have a big crowd rocking the political boat, maybe take Perry down a notch or two with a shrewdly-timed broadside. Instead we get Strayhorn spinning cycles trying to get herself listed as "Grandma" on the ballot while Kinky treats the campaign trail like an audition for the Redneck Racist Comedy Tour. (truthfully, I think Kinky's more of a candidate for the Politically-Unfit Jackass Comedy Tour, but that doesn't rhyme)

Otherwise, voting was little more than an excuse to spin the "hi-tech" dial across a slate of unchallenged judges and dubious bond propositions. A reminder, if ever one was needed, what a fragile sham construct our hyper-segmented form of democracy truly is. I hardly think that a litany of unopposed races and ballot initiatives shielded behind trite marketing slogans matches the Founders' vision of representative democracy.

If my vote is my voice, today's response to six years of deception and mediocrity should have been a scream of outrage blasted in the face of the crooked and complacent. But all they got was a hushed "you suck," mumbled under my breath.

Update: At least some other parts of the country had the option to voice their dissent. Democracy does indeed require a perspective beyond your own ballot.