Watch This

A few weeks ago the batteries in both my watches died on exactly the same day.

One of my watches is a twenty-four hour watch like astronauts wear and is handy for confusing people who have the nerve to ask me what time it is instead of just wearing a watch themselves. At noon, the hour hand points to the bottom of the watch. At six in the morning, it points to where you would normally expect to see the number 3.

The other is a snazzy Cole Haan number that makes me look like I belong in an Abercrombie ad. Which, of course, I do. I prefer this watch for every day use as the astronaut watch is just one step on the nerd scale above having a Casio digital calculator timepiece.

After a couple weeks of glancing at my empty wrist fifty times a day then asking people for the time, all the while feeling that familiar contempt for myself normally reserved for others, I decided I needed to make replacing the battery a priority. The problem with this scenario is that most days I leave the house late for my day job and don't return until after my performances. Usually that's much later than every normal person is at work and I no longer feel motivated to do something as menial as stopping to buy a watch battery. By this time of night all I usually find time for is a beer and quickie with the Mrs.

So sometime last week I decided to just put the watch on to remind me that I need to find time to stop and buy a battery. But the worst kind of thing has happened. Instead of serving as a proverbial string around the finger, my watch has only succeeded in making me repeat the phrase, "Oh my GOD! Is it REALLY half past already?!?" at least ten times a day.

Let me tell you, this is not any more handy than having no watch on at all. Nor has it succeeded in motivating me to get a battery. In fact, the battery in my car is now quite dead having left me stranded post-performance last night and I'm not sure exactly how or when I will find time to replace that either.

Perhaps if I strap my dead car to my wrist, it will serve as a reminder. Or possibly one more car ride with my mom forcing me to listen to Barry Manilow sing hits from the sixties through his substantial nose will motivate me.