Fruit Or No Fruit?

Posted on January 2, 2013 by davidrobinsoncreative

664. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

I have a photograph of my grandfather dressed as Yasser Arafat. It was taken many years ago when he wintered in Florida at a trailer park for seniors. When I first saw the photo I thought he was dressed as Mother Theresa. He was standing in the middle of a group of elderly ladies dressed as harem girls but I missed the context completely. “Why was grandpa dressed as Mother Theresa?” I asked. “Things were wild in that park,” my dad said without raising his eyes from the newspaper. He turned the page and added, “They were always up to mischief in that place. It was crazy.”

My mother came over to look at the picture. “That’s not Mother Theresa, he’s Yasser Arafat,” she said, pointing out the picket sign grandpa was holding. It read, “Cheap Oil!” I’d wondered why Mother Theresa was holding a sign about oil but decided not to ask; there are some things in life that are best left unknown. Grandpa had a smirk on his face (isn’t that an interesting phrase! Like he had a bit of food on his lip, he was eating a smirk and left some traces on his face…). I recognize that smirk because it’s the same look I get on my face when I am up to no good – which is not often. I’m a very serious guy. Really.

“Was this Halloween? I asked. I like the idea of my grandparents trick-or-treating. “No, this must have been New Years,” my mother said. “Yeah, one year he was in a big diaper because they chose him as the New Year’s baby,” my dad said, licking his finger and turning the page. “Do you remember the time he was Carmen Miranda?” mom asked. “Good god!” my dad exclaimed, “He looked funny! Was that Carmen Miranda?” “I don’t know,” she replied, making a cup of tea, “He wore fruit, didn’t he?” My dad looked up from his paper, puzzled.

“No wonder I have an inner sociologist.” I thought, watching my mother slowly dip her tea bag trying to remember if grandpa had fruit on his head before she continued, “Maybe he was Mae West.”

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Pick A Fight With Birds

Posted on December 23, 2012 by davidrobinsoncreative

654. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Marilyn dope slapped me after my last post. She wrote, “PLEASE turn on the light rather than curse the darkness…go to the shore and fight with your birds.” After all, we did just mosey passed the solstice and are now in the early days of light’s return. A good bird fight would do me some good. As a side note, my favorite chuckle of the day: last night as a precaution to prepare his audiences for imminent Mayan end-of-the-world-ness, Andrew, artistic director of Jet City Improv, and his players stood at the doors of the theatre and passed out bags of air as people exited. One can never have too much air especially amidst so much concocted uncertainty.

In preparation for my bird fight I pulled on my warm clothes, my rain boots and coat. It’s wet out there and the birds with their fancy all weather feathers have an unfair advantage. I meant business so I left my glasses inside: I’m a better bird fighter when I can’t see what’s coming. Also, if I took a wing to the nose I didn’t want my glasses to break. They’re new and I’m told make me look smart – which implies that I don’t look smart without my glasses and it’s better strategy if the birds underestimate my intelligence and mistake me for a simple street fighter.

I splashed out to the end of the street, the place where the birds hang out and look for snacks: it is the shore of the Puget Sound and there are plenty of snack options for hungry birds to choose from. My foes, the crows, were sitting in the trees. It was raining really hard. I said some disparaging things about the design of crows (I made fun of their beaks) and not a single bird flinched. They just sat there bobbing on branches, looking out across the water. They didn’t even glance my way. I mocked them, flapping my arms, splashing through puddles, running in circles and perched on the breaker wall. Nothing. Not even a “caw.” So I did it again, flapping arms, puddle dancing, circle running with a necessary perch break to catch my breath.

A policeman stopped, rolled down his window and asked what I was doing. I told him that Marilyn suggested I come down to the shore and pick a fight with the birds. He asked me, “Who’s Marilyn?” I told him that she was a fantastic teacher in Nebraska. He wrinkled his brow and considered asking another question but instead offered a suggestion: “Maybe throw something at them. That usually works.” I told him it was a great idea and I’d give it some thought though secretly I didn’t really want to fight anymore. Splashing in the puddles was much more light-giving than bird fighting. The cop wished me luck, rolled up his window, and drove on. I jumped in puddles until my shoes were soaked, turned my face to the rain and let it wash all of that darkness away.

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Take A Number

Posted on December 21, 2012 by davidrobinsoncreative

652. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

“A person without a story does not exist.” Shekhar Kapur

Recently, I had to deliver a tax document to the IRS building downtown. Over a year ago I received a letter saying, “Congratulations, you’ve been randomly selected for a special educational audit….” I turns out that it was not a helpful educational audit in store for me but a year of medieval torture. My personal IRS agent has been trying to break me on the wheel. He is new to his job and has something to prove. His investigation is proving fruitless – which has only served to drive him into an income tax fervor, a numbers induced fanaticism – he’s redoubled his efforts, turning over figures, dumping columns, reaching back into my infancy to find anything to justify his time. And through it all I have, despite the stated intention of the audit, remained fairly uneducated and am now distinctly ungrateful for my random selection.

Luckily for me I have an accountant with a sense of humor. She represented me in all of his demands so I’d not met my inquisitor. She told me, “I’ve been doing this for a long time but never met anyone so singly dedicated to a lost cause.” And then she said, “He’s just cold. I think he’s angry about his life and is taking it out on you.” After 12 months – a full year of rooting through my documents, issuing threats, fines, fines revoked, re-requests, forms and re-forms 1120s, 4828, 2848, 6525a, I decided it was time to meet him. He sent a letter demanding that I deliver an original document, the scan that he initially requested was not good enough so he wanted the original and gave me 24 hours to comply (he sent his request via US Mail and I received it 4 days after his deadline). His request for the original was my opportunity to meet this very cold man.

When I first passed through the metal detectors a security guard told me to start my quest on the 34th floor. Exiting the elevator I came to a desk with a “take a number” machine. No human was in sight so I took a number. I realized at that moment that I’d left normal reality and was in Dante’s Inferno. This was the first level of hell. My number flashed on a screen and I was directed to find cubicle 8. Walking down a row of empty cubicles (there were rows of empty cubicles) I came at last to a person imprisoned behind a glass partition. She would not look at me and instructed me to go to the 16th floor. I was descending to the next level. Where was my Virgil?

On the 16th floor, although there were long corridors, I found 3 wall phones next to a locked door. There were no signs. There was not another human. Picking up a phone a person came on the line, listened to my quest and advised me to pick up another phone. My second choice of phone proved no different so I finally found a person through phone number 3 who told me to go to the 24th floor. (note: I am not making this up). On the 24th floor I found an identical set of phones and a single locked door. I looked around to see if I was on Candid Camera; how could I be sure that I’d traveled to another floor? What if this was Ellen DeGeneres’s idea of a joke and I was on live TV and the studio audience was howling at my incredulity? Or, perhaps I’d been hit by a bus and died and this was my version of Sisyphus. It only took two phones to find my tax man. A monotone voice told me that he’d be out in a moment. I made sure there was no food in my teeth – just in case Ellen came around the corner to say, “Isn’t this funny?”

My special agent came timidly out the door. He was very young – someone’s little brother, a son. He was not yet a man and he was shaking. I suddenly realized that he was afraid of me, afraid that I’d yell at him or perhaps hurt him. I knew in that moment that he knew that his audit was unreasonable and mean-spirited. He’d hoped that he’d never have to meet me. The moment was awful for him; filled with shame. I was seeing the Oz behind the curtain and he hated having to reveal himself. He was playing a power-over game with me because he had no real power in his life. I saw it and so did he. I held out my hand and said quietly that I thought it was time that I met him and handed him the original document. As Ann Quinn taught me, I killed him with kindness. Like his counterpart in the cubicle on floor 34, he was unable to look at me. He took the piece of paper and, visibly relieved, he disappeared again behind the door. “I am not in hell,” I thought, “…this man is. This man must come here everyday.”

As I left the building, returning to the land of light and humanity, I felt sick at the system that requires a young man to be a bully in order to feel powerful. His shame was palpable and I am certain I will be hammered because I saw his truth. As a nation we are asking ourselves serious questions about what caused such a horrific act of violence at an elementary school. We look for causes instead of the daily rituals that leave a soul so empty and frustrated that he must flame out of existence and take others with him as the only act of meaning that he can imagine. It is a failure of imagination; life in an empty story. Our rituals have descended to the level of collecting stuff and there is no substance or support to be found there. The daily rituals of our lives are meant to open us to the greater identification with deep meaning and sacred connectivity – with each other and our world. Our daily rituals are meant to bring us to the recognition of the enormity of being alive. I turned back and looked at this building and mourned for the people that must take their hearts from their bodies to go to work everyday; we are a tribe that only pretends to have a story. My heart broke for the young tax man who so early in life has made the choice to not exist.

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Savor The Cake

Posted on December 1, 2012 by davidrobinsoncreative

632. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

I’m fairly certain that my waiter in café at the Seattle Art Museum is the devil. He had the laugh; you know the laugh that I mean. I’m not certain how to check that I still have a soul but I fear that I just signed away the goods for a plate of risotto and some heavenly chocolate cake.

I’d just spent 3 hours with Judy-Who-I-Revere. My mind was reeling with Judy-inspired-insight. I wanted to stare into space and recount our conversation. I had an hour before my bus so I decided to treat myself to lunch at the museum café. I sat at a lovely table and had decided on the roast tomato soup with grilled 5-cheese sandwich; it was the reason I went to the café in the first place. I had a yearning. I had a taste. So I knew what I wanted before I entered the café. When the waiter came to my table he did not start with a greeting or a “what can I get for you today.” No. He started with, “It’s not on the menu but I know you would kill to have the special today. It’s a risotto. Oh, my god….” I laughed and said, “Well, if I’m going to kill for it I guess I better have it.” And that’s when he laughed. And it was THAT laugh, the one that makes you suspicious that you might just be signing away the invisible parts of you.

I moaned audibly when I ate the first bite. The people at the table next to me raised their collective eyebrow. I think they’d been married for a long time so in sync and unified was their brow antics. I moaned again with the second bite to see what facial gymnastics I might inspire. I savored every bite. The disapproving couple paid their bill and fled.

The devil waiter returned and asked if I wanted dessert. I never have dessert and I said, “Yes.” After looking over the dessert menu I asked about the cheesecake and he was enthusiastic while shaking his head “no.” I asked about the Theos cake (I’m not kidding) and he said, “Oh my god, the chocolate…it is extraordinary.” Nodding his head I found that I too was nodding my head and he said, “Great choice! I’ll bring some coffee, with the cake.” I continued nodding my head.

If the risotto made me moan, the cake made me weep. With each bite I wept and pointed to my fork; I was beyond words and wanted everyone to know what they could experience if only they’d order the cake. I cleared an entire section of the café. I’m sure my weeping and babbling was less than attractive. My devil waiter did not seem to mind that I’d emptied his section of tables. He asked how I was doing and I sobbed and smiled and pointed at the cake. He laughed and I shuddered and ate another bite. I couldn’t help myself.

When the check came I had that still small voice in the back of my mind say, “Pay with cash; don’t sign anything!” I listened and slipped some bills in the folder, muttering, “Don’t sign…don’t sign…” and fled the café. My waiter called after me, “Have good day!”

Outside, in the rain, I came back from my stupor. I stood on the street corner, checked to make sure it was the same day as when I entered the café. I saw that only an hour had passed although it felt like a universe had come and gone since risotto. I checked my pockets to see if I still had my soul. My gloves were there but no soul! Suddenly I remembered that I don’t keep my soul in my coat pockets. And then I felt very alive, looked to the sky and felt the rain on my face. I was fully awake, and knew that I’d had it all wrong. I had it backwards. I turned and went back in for another cup of coffee and a chat with my waiter, knowing that I’d experienced my soul in that piece of cake.

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You First

Posted on November 29, 2012 by davidrobinsoncreative

630. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

When she said, “It’s as if we shoot information at each other,” I did what I always do: I lapsed into a ridiculous fantasy: Two cowboys step off the boardwalk on the dusty streets of Tombstone. They face each other, each with fingers twitching to pull their pistols and shoot. The townspeople duck into stores or take cover behind water barrels. The pistols are not loaded with bullets, but with agendas and opinions. The town’s people cover their ears; agendas being fired are loud. There will be no listening even though the object of the gunfight is to be heard. Shout to convince. Scream to negate the others point of view. The clock strikes noon, the combatants pull their opinions and begin shooting information at each other.

I giggled when I emerged from my ridiculous fantasy because it was less ridiculous than some of the stuff I have watched lately on the news. Doesn’t it seem that the rule of the day is to stake claims, shoot information, bomb with data, feign outrage, make headlines, and secure our 15 minutes of fame. Tom used to say, “When I was a boy I had to pay a nickel to get into the circus tent we called a freak show – and it was more appealing than this.”

We in the United States just emerged from a dreadful political season, pistols loaded with red and blue bullets. All of the town’s people jumped behind the watering trough and shimmied under the stagecoach to stay clear of the melee; information bullets ricocheting everywhere and not a single truth to be found anywhere. Sometimes I think we vote to stop the shooting. After the gunfight we head to the bar to wet our whistle and shout at each other. I think it must be the cultural dark side of colonialist’s to need to be right all of the time; we defend our point of view before we listen, thus we have a diminished capacity to converse or entertain other points of view.

This morning I listened (I did, I really listened and offered not a single opinion) to a TED talk by Ernesto Sirolli entitled: if you want to help someone, shut up and listen. “Wow!” I thought, “Now that is a revolutionary statement if ever I heard one!” Subtle but in the age of opinion assault it is worthy of consideration. It might also be a hint for how we might initiate culture change. It is certainly something beginning actors learn to do as a first step toward power: stand still and listen. Imagine what might happen on that dusty street in Tombstone if our information slingers refused to draw their pistols, paused and said, “You first.” Less drama to be sure but wouldn’t we get more done?

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Understand My Confusion

Posted on November 20, 2012 by davidrobinsoncreative

621. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

I’m not getting you anything for Christmas. It’s not that I don’t want to give you a gift. I do. It’s just that I’m having a crisis of value; I’m not sure what is valuable anymore.

For instance, I was unplugged from the news last week so I missed the disappearance of the Twinkie. Honestly, I probably would have missed it had I not been unplugged from the news. What I didn’t miss was the profiteers that raked clean the Twinkies from store shelves only to sell them on eBay to panicking Twinkie fans for a hundred times the market price. And they are selling, thus establishing a new market price. I recognize the rules of supply and demand, the demand-fever produced by a limited supply and all of that; I can even entertain the appeal of Americana, the passing of the Twinkie era and the emotional crisis that might evoke. But, truth be told, I am shaking my head in disbelief.

Just for kicks I googled the list of endangered species and wondered where is the frenzy over the limited supply of Assam Roofed Turtles or Australian Sea Lion’s? If we have the energy to horde and save Twinkies, where is our verve to protect the Bactrian Camels? I understand there is a very limited supply. Of course, it is a rhetorical question; according to the law of supply and demand they have no value. No demand. No market. Best to just let the supply disappear. You can understand my confusion. For kicks, google the list, read it, and see how long it takes you to get to the bottom. You might want to sit. You’ll certainly want to brew some coffee; it will take you a while.

And then there is the day we set aside each year to give thanks. We gather with our families. We make a big meal to demonstrate and celebrate our abundance. Given enough time we might even sit around and tell stories of the people who came before us that lived hard lives so that we might enjoy our abundance. But, this year the stores open at 8:00. I hadn’t recognized the shortage of stuff – or perhaps it is a shortage of time to get stuff; either way, somehow we’ve managed to turn our ritual of Thanksgiving into a festival of lack. I’d ask you to explain it to me but I think that might only serve to depress me.

Given the clear value message displayed by my community, I have learned that the best gift I can give to you this year is a Twinkie. And, I can’t do it. I value you more than that. You can understand my confusion.

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Step Into Your Food Trap

Posted on November 11, 2012 by davidrobinsoncreative

612. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

As teeth go, I have always been fortunate. Mine are hitchy-screw but mostly cavity free. I’ve never had root canals or bridges or caps. Only once in my life has the good doctor had to stick a needle into my gums and she was diligent in numbing my gum before using the needle. I thought, “Cool. No pain.” My dad has not been so lucky. He’s a cavity factory, a root waiting to be canaled. After every pain free visit to the dentist I think of calling my dad to tell him that I’m still skating in front of the grim tooth reaper. And, every time I pick up the phone to torture my dad with my good tooth fortune, I think, “Don’t do it! There will be dental blow back.” I return my phone to my pocket and pretend that I never had the thought.

So, you can imagine my surprise when my dentist told me that I have a food trap in my mouth. Now, it is impossible for me not to jump with both feet into that image opportunity. I saw packs of animals and varieties of vegetables roaming around in my mouth completely unaware of the pit they were about to step into; a loop of rope ready to snare their food-feet and launch them into the air, suspended until I (who else?) would come along and eat them. Having a food trap in my mouth posed a good question: Why have a food trap in your mouth? One of the primary uses of a mouth is to trap food. What is the sense of having a trap in my trap? My dentist rolled her eyes but did not answer my query.

After rolling her eyes she brought out the drill. Once again, she was diligent in numbing me before needling me and was very concerned about my comfort during trap removal. No Pain! I am, more than ever, grateful that I did not dial the phone and torture my father. Today very well could have been blow back day. I was a bit disappointed when no steel trap, cage, or hidden rope came out of my mouth. Apparently a food trap is akin to a tiger pit and all the drilling and sanding was to knock down the spikes so she could fill in the pit. She told me it was a standard procedure. It seems many of us roam around with food traps lurking in our mouths. Thank goodness I have an un-caged imagination. What would my day in the dentist chair have been if I had not let my imagination roam as freely as the packs of animals roaming in my mouth; what would I have experienced had I not made the whole thing up?

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Make It Up!

Posted on November 9, 2012 by davidrobinsoncreative

610. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

It is election night and the wind is roaring off the Sound. We are saving daylight now so the sun sets early. It was only this weekend that we turned back the clocks so I am disoriented each evening; “What time is it!” I exclaim looking at the clock, realizing that although it feels like midnight it is actually only 7:00. When I was a kid I’d ride the merry-go-round, spinning and spinning until my inner compass was so bamboozled that I walked like a drunken sailor. Daylight saving time is like a merry-go-round.

Although at this fine age I have no intention of spinning myself into perplexity, I’ve once again decided that being disoriented is not so bad (when I am deep in thought I am perfectly capable of walking into poles or going in the opposite direction of my intention). In fact, so fond am I of being disoriented that I’m considering spinning disorientation into a philosophy so future generations might reasonably aim at utter confusion.

This is the proof for my new philosophy: we spend so much time trying to be found, how could we be anything but lost. A variation on the theme: we spend so much time trying to be right, that we must certainly be continually proving that we are wrong. Another variation: we put so much energy justifying our position that we must be secretly convinced that we have no position. So rather than whip up the illusion of knowing, wouldn’t it make more sense to fully embrace not-knowing? Good heavens, I’m on the verge of writing a syllogism! My inner philosopher is tugging at his beard with cigar stained fingers, muttering, “hmmmmmm. A book, perhaps?” Ominous deep staring eyes will dominate the book jacket design, the teaser will read: there is no map for your soul! The first chapter will be a single sentence: It is all made up.

When puffer-academics ask me for proof of disorientation I will point to American election cycles. So inundated are we with months of campaign advertising, pundits tugging on our perceptual rope, “facts” spun into tasty delirium cotton candy, “truth” slandered and slander twisted into licorice tasting “truth;” we must certainly be on the merry-go-round all of the time. Chapter one: it is all made up. Chapter two: in order to be oriented you have to have something solid to orient to. Chapter three: If it is all made up, then nothing is solid. If nothing is solid, then orientation is impossible. If orientation is impossible, then you better make something up. A near syllogism! My inner philosopher hoots with satisfaction!

No wonder I’m dizzy.

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See Again

Posted on November 5, 2012 by davidrobinsoncreative

606. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

I got new glasses today. I had great vision until I was 45 and then, just as a prophetic optometrist predicted when I was 21, the world went fuzzy. I denied the existence of my first pair of glasses until one day during a workshop I thought a team wrote on their flip chart, “All new hires should have babies.” I walked closer to the flip chart (rather than put on my glasses…) and discovered that they’d actually written that new hires should have buddies, not babies. I was both relieved and distressed; what else was I misreading?

It amuses me when I bust myself in full-blown story attachment. In my brown-eyed family, I am the only member with green eyes. I was the only member gifted with perfect vision; not only do I have green eyes but I do not need glasses…that was the story. I do not need glasses. I am an artist with perfect vision and that is a gift. With glasses, I thought the gift was revoked. I must not have used it well. I was, with glasses, somehow less special. I knew that the story of my glasses was ridiculous and existed nowhere outside of me, but I told it anyway.

And then I learned through my new fuzzy sight that my gift was not my vision; it was my vision.

The first time Joe saw me wear my glasses he said, “Oh, thank god! Now you at least look smart!” Over time I grew accustomed to wearing them when I needed to read flip charts or drive. Pulling them from their perch on the collar of my shirt I’d put them on and think, “Time to look smart.” It became a game, like Clark Kent running into his phone booth and coming out as superman; I’d turn around and put on my glasses, spin around and be a few points smarter than before. “I need some more smarts,” I’d think, spinning around, and re-emerging wearing my smart eyes. And then, I realized that glasses work like a mask or a clown’s nose: they are transformational and allow an infinite number of new characters to come through: my glasses worked just like a clown car!

So, picking out my second pair of glasses today was an event. Since I now recognize that my gift is not my vision but my vision, and I have a unique opportunity for new characters to emerge through each successive pair of glasses, I went to the most special place, Eyes On Fremont, to pick my new look, my new superhero persona, my next clown car of personalities.

Watch out world! I can see again. And, with my new look came a new superpower though I must not tell what my new superpower is (hint: I am less smart in my new mask but speeding bullets have nothing on me now!); superpowers must remain incognito until needed.

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Look Before You Throw

Posted on November 2, 2012 by davidrobinsoncreative

603. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Just a few moments ago, I stood up from my desk, slid open the glass door, stepped out on the balcony with my laptop, and prepared to hurl my computer into space. Luckily, I have an odd sense of humor so, before I actually pitched the offender to its death, I did what they do on television and threatened it first. “Are you going to tell me what I want to know?” I whispered coldly. At first my computer was silent so I cocked my arm as if I was about to throw it like a Frisbee and the poor device screamed and begged for mercy. It relented and helped me with my task (as it was supposed to do in the first place). So I brought it back inside to the desk… but I did not close the door. I wanted it to know that the flying-off-the-balcony option was still on the table.

I was gratified that it relented but somehow felt dissatisfied. I wanted to hear the smash. I wanted to feel the triumph of actually pitching the offending computer off of the balcony. And that’s when the idea hit me: stunt doubles! My computer should have a stand-in for those dangerous moments when it confounds me and provokes my wrath! I would have pitched the stunt double off the balcony without a second thought. I would have danced a happy jig the moment it smashed to the ground! And the threat would still be there for my real computer. While dancing I’d look at my real computer and say, “Did you hear that? That will be you if you keep messing with me….” Who knew that technology would bring out my inner Al Capone.

Recently, I was in the Verizon store. On the counter was a box of smashed iPhones. The purpose of the box on the counter was to encourage new buyers to get the insurance offered by the store. I was waiting so I asked for the stories of the smashed phones. The young man behind the counter grinned and took great relish telling me the gory accounts of iPhone demise. Some were clearly accidental. Others were very suspicious. For instance, what would need to happen for you to “back your car over your phone?” What sequence of events would lead you to “drop your phone off an overpass?” Or, my personal favorite, “…a friend, (a Sumo wrestler, apparently), stepped on it.” MM-hmm. Technology brings out the inner Al Capone in us all. Had the iPhone owners suitable stunt doubles, their phones may have lived to see another day.

Megan-the-Brilliant is tough on technology. I’ve only known her for a few years and have already seen her drown her phone (twice), drop her phone on hard tile (suspicious, don’t you think?), smash the glass in a manner yet to be explained (she rolled her eyes and said, “It just happened.”) I’ve even seen her work a backroom deal for smashed glass replacement because she didn’t want to explain yet another time why her phone was broken (during the deal I pretended that I was the look-out. It was thrilling). Imagine the relief she would feel with a box of stunt doubles. She could experience the joy of drowning her phone and not have to fear the dubious looks from suspicious Verizon employees.

Just as in the movies, a stunt double does not cost nearly as much as a star. I could affordably pitch my laptop off a balcony several times a day and still be under budget. Of course, my inner lawyer would impose a warning label on my inner Al Capone: I imagine the warning label on the stunt-double jump suit would read: Always look before you throw, use caution when smashing your technology. No wonder I’m conflicted!

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