Morning Glories

 

‘Top of the mornin’ to ya’...as they say, or, more to the point, used to say. These days the top of my morning is actually lying semi-comatose, still in bed, in the midst of a surreal hallucination. Usually these blissful moments are interrupted by a robo-call, then perhaps another one, and so forth. I interpret the purpose of these calls as nothing more than affirmations that I don’t really matter at all… at least not to the world at large

On the other hand the phone ringing away does serve the purpose of convincing me to move my sorry ass out of whatever slumber I managed to squeeze into my insomniacal reveries. As I sleepily shower, shit and shave, I then move on to the mundane task of attiring myself, filling my pockets with the usual accouterment. Checking the TV for any news worth a watch, I am subsequently stymied by an onslaught of ads assaulting and reminding me that if I don’t ‘buy’ I am nothing but a ‘bye’...a nothing, an inconsequential non-sequitur in the grand scheme of things.

I go to CNN: Commercial. MSNBC:? Commercial. Fox: ? Commercial! Most of them are reminding me of new afflictions and acronyms for diseases that I’ve never heard of or don’t exist in the first place. ‘Hyperhidrosis disorder?’ That’s people who sweat too much…hmmm. Do they mean people who live in the hyper-humid regions of the world where releasing bodily fluids through their pores maintains their health? One can’t be sure. But indubitably, something’s available for everyone in this potpourri of remedy, reminding us that disease is our birthright, while health and salubrity can be purchased.

The only reprieve from this incursion of commercial cacophony is Public Television, and a visit to Sesame Street…not a bad move at that. After all, it’s always a good idea to keep in touch with the alphabet as one moves into the latter stages of life.

Meanwhile the robo-calls keep coming. Not even a blocking program such as “Nomorobo” can stop the incessant squeal from alerting me to the being and nothingness of it all. Ah...but there’s always the joy of releasing ones smart phone from its station and checking your latest e-mail. This can be done quite quickly after mastering the technique of the nimble-finger scroll and recognizing that 99% of the messages can be annoyingly, yet adroitly deleted. Moreover, the finger scroll can be useful in prepping for orgasmic activity later in the day with the fairer sex. Therefore, it should not be summarily dismissed with the bulk of other useless messages.

Of course, the downside of releasing my phone into the light of day is that it will now be thanking me for choosing Marriott Hotels, a trip to Tahiti or perhaps the wonder of complete silence on the other end...as I bewilderedly realize that I‘ve been spammed again.

Checking your e-mail on a computer desktop can be considered for some akin to a worthy, workout at the gym, By assiduously practicing over a few years one can learn to scroll and extinguish endless streams of refuse posing as correspondence in a matter of seconds. It is also a good habit to regularly clean out your trash and junk folders (though I’ve yet to discern the difference). Leaving these vital digital binders unattended may come back to haunt us some day, as has the garbage that is currently enveloping the terra firma upon which I now write.

There was a time when all the information, solicitations and communications affecting our lives were buffered by time. Instant access is not a bad thing in and of itself. What matters is the content of that access, and it is not a stretch to claim that content to be toxic far beyond a reasonable doubt. Starting one’s day in the midst of an avaricious, electronic bombing raid cannot bring on the best of the sunrise…certainly not for this septuagenarian.

Not unexcpectantly, as I pen this tribute to my morning rituals, I have just been invited to the Grand Viagra Ball, taking place in some con-guy’s (or gal’s) wallet, still bamboozling the hapless victims not yet seasoned in the ways of this digital world, and all its ‘top of the mornin’ glories!

~Marc Twang

 

See Marc Twang’s Essays Archive by clicking here.

 

Untitled Document