So there I was with my esteemed friend and colleague, Colleen Wheeler. We were on foot, en route to a wine bar along one of Ventura, California’s lovely beaches, on the other side of the scenic interstate 11 from where I had parked my car. After passing a “No Pedestrians Allowed” sign—at which I thought, don’t call me a pedestrian you racist!—we were unexpectedly confronted by a busy and treacherous highway exit ramp. (Hello, State of California, walking people and exit ramps don’t go together!) There is no stop light, which means the rapidly exiting automobiles are permitted to slam into the dainty endoskeletons of unsuspecting bipeds at full speed. So we did the only thing sensible: We scurried across the exit ramp like daring road-kill squirrels.
As we enjoyed our wine (yes we survived), Colleen thought it would be fun to show me every photo she had ever taken on her iPhone. Which added up to about 7. And much as you love someone, reviewing that person’s photo album makes you a bit catatonic. And so as my eyes fluttered, I had this ill-formed thought that I had photos on my iPhone, too, and I should, there was that one, right, which? So I felt my right-side pocket, and then the other one, and my jacket, and, hold the phone, no iPhone!
I explained my lack of phone to Colleen. She called my number and it went right to v-mail. We retraced our steps. I saw something that looked like a flat pack of cigarettes in the exit ramp. I watched it get run over once, then twice. I squirrel-scurried in, scooped it up, and sure enough, it was my iPhone.
The phone was face down, its back marred by multiple tire tracks. I turned it over and this was what I saw. (Click the graphic for a high-res image that you can use, free of charge, for any of your cracked glass compositions.)
The phone was, and is forever more, dead.
So here’s the question: I recently showed my phone to my two boys, Max and Sam. Max, the older, wants to frame it. Sam, the younger, wants to bury it.
—In Max’s defense, framing the phone will allow us to see and enjoy it for years to come. Plus, theoretically, it’s more environmentally conscientiousness.
—In defense of Sam, burying the phone permits us to hold a service, say a few words, and send the phone’s rare metals back to the Earth from whence they came. So a dog can later dig the thing up and chew on it.
Please, weigh in. Max and Sam have agreed to let the majority decide. By voicing your opinion, you will ensure family harmony for minutes to come.
Thank you to Lucas Deming for the photographs.