Sunday, February 22, 2015

injaynesworld "Technology Marches On..."


While I march in place.

I recently received a letter from AT&T informing me that they will soon discontinue service on their 2G network:  This is one of a series of notifications which AT&T is providing to customers like you. 

Is it me or is there clearly a tone of hostility in those last two words? 

Yes, Jayne Martin.  You.  And others like you clinging to the past like gum on the sole of a Nike and gumming up the works for the rest of us.  Without your kind taking up valuable space on the spectrum your friends and neighbors – the ones paying us the big bucks – could download porn and upload dick pics at twice the speed, and you can be sure we’re going to let them know about it!

This isn’t the first time AT&T has threatened to cut me off.  In 2004, I received a similar letter telling me my two-pound analog Motorola was about to be relegated to the Smithsonian and kicking me into the unwanted future.  I must admit that my tiny 2G Nokia with the camera and the ability to download the theme to “Sex and the City” as my ringtone was an improvement, and it has served me well ever since.  It’s everything I need in a cell phone:  It makes calls and receives calls. On the rare instance when I receive an (unwanted) text, I have the ability to text back the sender asking them not to do that again. It’s relatively cheap to operate at $43/month, with unlimited rollover minutes, and I think I’ve accumulated about 4,000 such minutes at this point.  That’s how little I use the thing, and I’m perfectly happy with the whole arrangement.

The letter goes on to say that 2G service will be completely eliminated by January 1, 2017, but just when I rejoice at the prospect of remaining recalcitrant for another two years there’s this:  Don’t even think about it, asshole, because if we’re in the mood (and we can assure you we are) we may just pull the plug whenever we feel like it.

Or words to that effect.

Finally, an invitation to contact my AT&T account representative who will be a valuable resource in shaming you into a Smart phone you don’t want while signing you up for a bazillion- dollar data plan you can’t afford and will never use. 

While no one loves dragging their feet more than I do, even I know when I’m beat, but I’ll be damned if I’ll put one more penny into their sinister corporate coffer than I have to.  You want me to upgrade to 3G?  Fine.  And off I go to Ebay (the second happiest place on earth) to find another phone that's as close as I can get to the one I currently clutch. 

Fifty-bucks-with-free-shipping later, it’s mine:  In fashionably red, 3G, and best of all unlocked, so anymore crap from you, AT&T, and you can kiss my stubborn ass good-bye.


"Flip" you, AT&T

Saturday, February 7, 2015

injaynesworld "Et tu, Brian...?"


Dear Brian,

Just when I thought I was so old and hardened that my heart was bulletproof, I find myself once again shot down in flames.  As someone who spent her youth falling for narcissist cads – actors, rock stars – I thought I’d finally found my perfect guy in you:  Handsome, sexy, smart, funny, with unimpeachable integrity, yet still emotionally unavailable.  Motherlode!

  
Source: Nate Beeler, Columbus Daily Tribune


Why, Brian?   Sure, we all have brain farts, but you could have had a colonoscopy after this one.

You were the guy.  With your boyish charm and sincere crooked little smile, we even believed you when you said that watching your daughter’s anal sex scenes on “Girls” didn’t bother you.  Although, I have to admit I found that a bit creepy.  Now you’re just one more celebrity with “poor judgment” who has to do an apology tour, go to rehab and get counseling from the Reverend Al Sharpton.   

I may never recover from this, Brian, but don’t worry.  You will.  You can always go to work for Fox.  


Tuesday, January 27, 2015

injaynesworld "Together..."


Our proper clothes lie under a pile of leaves in the conclave at the foot of a tall pine, abandoned along with every other stitch in the thread connecting us with our past. 

We pull on the trousers, shirts and boots of field hands hidden there days before, tug caps low over our eyes, covering our newly-shorn heads, just two more boys among the many who walked these roads anonymously from town to town.

“Brothers” we will tell anyone who asks as we make our way far from the families who would keep us apart, and later “sisters,” orphaned, alone… spinsters in years to come.

We rub dark, damp soil on our faces to hide our smooth cheeks.  Only our hands betray us; soft and white, unmarked by the labor we now seek to survive.  I take hold of her fingertips, bring them to my lips, then silently we step forth into the unknown. 

From the Five Sentence Fiction prompt “abandon.”


Saturday, January 17, 2015

injaynesworld wherein "An Old Dog Learns A New Trick..."


I love to dance.  Always have.  In my youth, I spent countless nights anywhere that had a band and a dance floor.  Save that surfer shit for someone else.  Soul music was my bag and DAMN!  I had moves!

Today’s music, as James Brown might say, is a whole “new bag.”  When my gals Jessie J, Ariana, and Nicki belt out “Bang! Bang!” or Iggy Azalea promises “I’m Gonna Make Ya Pay For It,” I get my ass up and get down!  I’d been thinking about taking a dance class for some time just for fun and a little exercise, and so it was with great excitement that I went to my first hip-hop class with my dearest friend in tow for support.   

It was a class for beginner adults.  To me that meant beginners at hip-hop, not beginners at adulthood.  Alas, the class was filled with young, nubile bodies still flexible from being able to suck on their own toes.  No matter.  I had experience on my side. 

The teacher is a twenty-something young man, adorable with a crown of platinum hair atop his otherwise black locks and a smile that could power the entire town.  The warm-up jumping jacks nearly kill me, but hey – I didn’t come here to do no stinkin’ jumping jacks.  Bring on the beat!  And he does.  With Bruno Mar’s “Uptown Funk” blasting from his boom box we’re off. 

Holy crap! 

For some reason, it didn’t occur to me that we’d have actual choreography.  I’m mortified at my inability to even remember the moves, much less actually perform them.  I try to squeeze myself into the back row, but my “dearest friend” had already taken the last place and the bitch won’t budge.

I joke with the teacher that he’s doing 78 rpm’s, while I’m barely at 33 1/3.  He has no clue what an “rpm” is, but clearly having been taught to respect his elders, smiles at me politely.    

This wouldn’t be the first time my skills were vastly out of proportion to my confidence.  Still, I am tenacious – and I’ve already paid for the entire month.   So the following week, there we are again – me and my dearest friend.  I make it to the back row before she does, then realize I can’t see the teacher from there because of all the previously mentioned young, nubile bodies.  But I am better this week.  Out of 24 moves, I’ve nailed the first four.  Take that, bitches!

By summer, I should have it down. 


Thursday, January 8, 2015

injaynesworld "Next of Kin..."


The force of the old woman’s hand across Charlotte’s cheek knocked the young girl’s glasses off her face and onto the floor. 

“That fresh mouth of yours may have been tolerated in your parents’ house, but you’re in my house now,” the old woman said.

Tendrils of bright red spread across her tender flesh, the burn a welcome relief from that which tore at her from inside. 

Charlotte did not flinch as she picked up her glasses, set them back on her face and met her aunt’s steely gaze with one of her own.

The accident that had taken her family had taken all her tears.


This post from the prompt “fresh” at Five Sentence Fiction.


Tuesday, December 30, 2014

injaynesworld "Looking Back and Ahead..."


Another year beats a path to the history books and, frankly, I’m sorry to see it go.  Unlike so many years before it, 2014 and I got along just fine.  Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for more out of a year:  Good health, good friends and a home where I’ve never been happier.  Best of all I finally found the perfect handbag and the perfect bra.  Score 2014!

Now is the time we all start making those resolutions few of us will keep.  I’m making it easy on myself.  I’m resolving to do little that’s different from last year.  Why mess with success? 

I am going to get my ass out of the chair and moving a bit more.  To that end, I’m joining a hip-hop class starting in January that meets once a week.  I like today’s music.  I like to dance.   I don’t like going to a gym. 

Two thousand-fifteen is an impressive number for a year.  It never occurred to me as a child that I would live to see such a date.  Although, had it occurred, I’m certain I would have expected a world more akin to that of “The Jetsons” and less “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

I remember what a big deal it was when the clock struck midnight in 1960, the first year I was old enough to appreciate the power of a zero.  I got to stay up late and Mom made hot chocolate served in paper-thin China cups with gold-leaf trim.  On New Year’s Eve 1970, I was at a Grateful Dead concert at the Fillmore loaded on weed.  What a difference a decade makes.

Now, several decades later, I gather with friends in front of the TV watching Kathy Griffin rip on Anderson Cooper until 9:00 p.m. (PST), and then off to bed because when the ball drops at midnight in New York that’s good enough for me. 

However you ring in the New Year, here’s hoping that 2015 is everything you want it to be.

Happy New Year, my friends. 
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