Your dead dad

So, yeah. At some point recently, or maybe a while ago, your dad decided to fuck up your year and die. Which is pretty typical of him, and really would you have expected him not to do something like that? No. That's his style. Or it was, rather.

Well, now what? Your first reaction post death should be to briefly question your grip on whatever belief system you have. You're an atheist? You should debate becoming a believer briefly because you were thinking about your dad once the other day and the wind kicked up and rustled some tree branches and that was definitely your dad giving you a sign from beyond and not just the sound leaves make. But this will be brief, and the only times you will consider believing in God again will be when you win $280 from a $5 scratch-off lotto ticket when you really, really needed a new goddamn iPhone. Thanks, God.

The first anniversary of the death will be bizarre, and you'll go to some grave, or maybe someone's house, and have a good laugh at some dumb shit your dad used to do. As you go along, you will start to only remember the hilarious stuff your dad did and not the times he drunkenly swore at you or refused to pay for your AP English textbook because it wasn't a baseball glove. Instead you'll just remember the times when he drunkenly wore a beret and biking shorts with a hole in the crotch to the supermarket and showed everyone his balls. Or maybe the time he drunkenly fell down. That once.

Eventually, you'll get to a place where you can see all of your dad for what he was. You will see the good things a little better than the bad things, because they're easier to look at, and that's been kind of your rule of thumb regarding what to look at in life anyway. You'll blame the appropriate character flaws of yours on your dad; but you'll stop blaming the obviously wrong ones on him. You'll be able to talk about him honestly, and when people apologize about bringing up dads when they find out yours is dead, you'll be able to truthfully tell them it's no big deal. And then, one day, you'll resurrect a two-year dead blog to write a post about him that no one will read and it will feel like a step toward something non-fraudulent.

And then you'll realize just how fraudulent that is.

Your goddamn iPhone

Besides liquor, food and rent, the rest of your paychecks should be spent on gadgets. Or on the monthly bills you've acquired to keep your gadgets running. Your most prized gadget should be your goddamn iPhone.

You should make sure that everyone you know knows about your goddamn iPhone. They should know when you bought it, what new apps you've installed on it, and, if possible, there should be a harrowing story of some kind regarding how you finally acquired it. Maybe you were one of the douche bags that waited in line for over 24 hours. Maybe you spent an almost equal amount of time on the phone with Latwanda in the Houston AT&T call center trying to get them to give you the goddamn iPhone at the $199 price even though you're not eligible for an upgrade for another year. Something.

It's also really important that you be touching your goddamn iPhone pretty much all the time. Especially if you're alone or waiting for something, like the bus, or to be called in from the waiting room at the doctor's office. If you're in the doctor's office, it's also a good idea to double check everything your doctor tells you by bringing out your goddamn iPhone and loading up your WebMD app.

When you're walking down the street with a friend and neither of you knows where you're going, make sure to stop your friend from asking a human person for directions. Instead, insist that your goddamn iPhone will find it. Then, as you wait eight minutes for your "lightning fast" 3G connection to finally locate what street you're on, even though you have a map in your bag and eyes that can see street signs, you can feel really great about being on the cutting edge of such useful, life-changing technology.

At some point, you should realize that "there's an app for that" pretty much applies to everything imaginable. You can pay your bills, order food, entertain yourself, and answer work emails, all from your goddamn iPhone. This should elate you as you discover there's now barely any need to deal directly with anyone at all. Your goddamn iPhone has really (not) changed your life.