2-Year Old Daughter stuck a small bead in her ear. When they brought her to the emergency room, the attending physician who tried to pluck it out only succeeded in pushing it deeper into her ear canal. He pushed it so far in that it’s now lodged against her eardrum. On Wednesday morning, they’re going to put her under general anesthesia and surgically remove it. What a dickhead! What about his Hippocratic Oath? Perhaps I’ll get litigious on his ass. Or perhaps I’ll just kick his teeth in.

* * *

My cell phone jammer broke a little bit, so I opened it to try and fix it and I broke the damn thing permanently. What did I expect for $38? Longevity? I used it every day so it was only a matter of time. I feel like I’ve been stripped of my superpower. Of course I immediately ordered a replacement which is already speeding its way from Hong Kong across the Seven Seas. I’m not sure what to do in the interim if someones cell phone chatter starts to work my nerves. I might fill a sock with gravel and carry it in my travel bag. While not as elegant as an electronic jamming device, it’s just as effective.

* * *

The European tourists in Manhattan have very, very peculiar tastes in eyeglass frames. They all look like they’re trying to protect their retinas from space rays.

* * *

I got off the subway at the 42nd St. this morning and spotted a very hot girl standing in the middle of the platform. She pulled a deodorant stick out of her purse and slather some under each armpit. Hot AND doesn’t reek of B.O.! What more could a man want?

* * *

I had another meditation class last night. What bliss! Those Buddhists really know how to embrace quiet. We are, all of us, filled with delusions. But you already knew that, didn’t you? Before class, I traded up from last week’s Big Mac and instead ate outside at Pershing Square. I had a buttery delicious lobster roll. It was 3x the price of a Big Mac but without the horrifying stench and after-bloat.

M and C are here from Ohio for a vacation. Today, we took them to the beach. We have some spectacular waves and rip currents here today courtesy of Hurricane Bertha. Mrs. Wife, who is a Jersey Shore native and knows a lot of stuff about the ocean, told 8-Year Old Niece that rule number one when you’re at the beach is to never turn your back on the ocean. Well, she did, and a phantom wave snuck up behind her and knocked her down. M had to rush to her rescue and was also knocked over. Everyone is okay but M lost his $400 glasses. His glasses are sleeping with the fishes. The appeal of coming out here and staying with us was that it’s an inexpensive trip. That’s called an irony.

* * *

I was on the train the other night having a delightful time knocking out someone’s phone call when I glanced over at the reading material in his lap. Here’s what he was in the middle of:

New York Distinctions Supplement: Criminal Law

Does anybody know what that is? I suddenly felt the weight of the illegality of my cell phone jammer. I didn’t stop using it. It just made it all the more thrilling.

We need to talk. It’s about this goddamn cell phone jammer that I have allowed into my life.

When I took delivery on this thing, I made a commitment to only use it in an emergency. I was going to allow brief message-oriented calls and extended conversations that were conducted in hushed, respectful tones. That seemed fair. Well, I’m sorry to report that my good intentions have turned to dust. I have morphed into a horrible, selfish monster. I find knocking people off of their cell phone calls so dastardly and satisfying that I tend to do it whether they deserve it or not. And I don’t just turn on my jammer and leave it on. That would be too easy. I like to torment my prey. I’ll activate my disruptor ray to terminate the call, enjoy their reaction, turn it off, allow them to reestablish the connection and give them the juice again. Wash, rinse, repeat. Awful.

I’ve noticed that there’s a definite correlation between the type of person calling and their reaction to repeated dropped calls. Guys with BlackBerrys? They get the angriest. They are Masters of the Universe and they are being deprived of their Divine Right to use a cell phone for as long and as loud as they see fit. Their sense of entitlement is being compromised and they don’t take it very well. It’s not dissimilar to snatching a blankee away from a two year old.

Yappy sorority chippies are, like, you know, the most persistent? They’ll dial over and over and over again hoping that the connection improves. It never does. (I swear to you, as I was writing this, I hear from two rows behind me, “So, like, are you going shopping with us?” She’ll get hers in a minute.)

The elderly are the best. It takes them a long, long time to finally realize that their call has been terminated. They compensate for the silence on the other end of the line by speaking louder and louder until they’re practically screaming into their phone. I feel kinda bad about them.

I don’t want to get caught walking around town with this thing because I have a sneaking suspicion that it might not be entirely legal to own but I can’t seem to stop myself. I should cool it. Instant karma’s gonna get you. Gonna knock you right on the head.

It arrived.

I am Dr. No, as in, No, you cannot use your cell phone right now. In fact, you can’t use it again until after you disembark from MY train.

I’m trying to think of an electronic gadget that has had a more profound impact on my life, or has given me as much pleasure, as my new cell phone jammer. The personal computer? Nope. My iPod? Naw. The cell phone itself? Definitely not! How about my Panasonic nose/ear hair trimmer. Close, but no. Imaging listening to a yappy twenty-something girl prattle on endlessly about the injustice of having her yoghurt stolen from out of the company refrigerator. Each new sentence starts with “And, like.” Her voice rises at the end of each sentence as though it were a question, even though it’s a statement. “And, like, my name was on it and everything?” Now, imagine putting and end to this horror show by pressing a button. A small green diode light glows warmly. She continues yapping for a bit because in her self-absorbed head, she doesn’t realize that she’s talking into a dead piece of plastic. Soon, it dawns on her. She stares at her phone dumbly. Tries to redial, only to be met with repeated failure.

Look, I’m a reasonable man. I will tolerate brief conversations. “Hi, honey, I’m on the 5:23. See you later.” I will even permit lengthy calls that are conducted in hushed, respectful tones. But the days of long, loud phone calls by imaginary Barons of Finance discussing the plumeting value of the Mortgage Back Securities in their portfolios, or the late night drunken fights between broken lovers are over, my friends. I OWN the cell phone frequencies! I control them. All this power to abuse for a measly $42.90 plus shipping and handling from Hong Kong. Who can stop me? Not you.

Calling 007.

Oh, no, wait. You can’t call him right now because your cell phone is dead, muthereffer.

Muuuuhahahahah.