Crackberry Addict

For someone who blogs about politics, I really should pay more attention to it.

Last night I tuned into the City Council web stream late... I think after I got LA (Little Avenger) in bed.  Or maybe it was before.

Anyway, I tuned in to see Beth Mason smack in the middle of an off-the-hook crackberry-fueled full-blown apoplectic tirade complete with trembling voice, flailing hands... I felt like I was watching a meltdown of sorts... she barked like we were the scullery maid who broke her fine china.


Yikes.

It didn't even matter what she was talking about.  The tantrum was fascinating to watch.  And though her rage felt genuine- like we were seeing the hinges rip themselves off a storm door, Mason was reading from a script. Well, not a script. GA's pretty sure she was high on the crackberry.

You know.

The gadget that hungrily gobbles Lane Bajardi's odd rantings as they bounce off a satellite miles above the earth then into Mason's wireless crackpipe and out through her mouth.

Ask any regular attendee of City Council meetings what goes on between those two.  He sits there in the audience pounding away on his keyboard as Mason furtively glances downward, drawing hit after hit off the crackberry pipe.

No, Mason's dealer can't type those instructions fast enough for the addict.

raise voice now... point finger... hold up GA graphic and compare yourself to a genuine victim...

Mind  you, this behavior has cooled off since her ascension to the Big Chair. But last night in Mike Russo's absence, there was a vacuum of guidance for the woman who relies on much on others to do for her.  So...

Last night she was back on the crackberry, snorting and huffing and puffing away.

And boy, that was some good sh*t she was smoking.