I saw Buddy Baker’s name on Winner’s Alley at Darlington Raceway. Because he’s a nice guy with an interesting perspective, I thought I’d give him a call. But all I had was his home number. I didn’t have his cell number. Turns out, people who work with him say, he doesn’t have a cell phone.
Buddy, I respect you. Just because the world tilts a certain way doesn’t mean you have to tilt with it. I put off a cell phone as long as I could, and now I’m one of those dweebs who spends way too much time on it. Mine broke at the Super Bowl, and it cost me at least one story. So I got a new one. It’s very narrow. I think it’s cool.
What kind of guy looks at a cell phone and thinks, how cool? A dweeb. Be strong, Buddy. Don’t give in. You might be the only one left. It’s too late for me. I have to live vicariously through you.
This blog makes no sense.
Posted by: MrAfternoon | February 12, 2007 at 11:21 PM
Perhaps the effect is similar to Suduko, that confusing letter and number game. Or perhaps Mr. Sorenson has thrown down the gauntlet....perhaps it is our job to decipher the arcane Sorenson Hyroglifics. Hey, an idea. We could repackage and market the columns to people afraid of getting Alzheimer's...they could do the mental gymnastics and guess at the true meaning.
Posted by: Rodney | February 13, 2007 at 10:06 PM