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I need to face facts. I've been driven by modern circumstance to the status of juice junkie. I crave the current. I jones for the juice. I live for the load, and I'm crazy for AC.

It's not like I have a good reason, like, say, a droud. That'd be a good reason. Fun even. No, I am just a slave to the various battery-powered objects on which my life depends. I'm sure you know the list, perhaps even have a similar one-

But what does it mean? Let me give you an example. I recently (yesterday) arrived in the Big Apple, that place which spawned me, for New Year revelry and of course noder antics. I debarked from the Acela Express into the wonderfully...fragrant confines of Penn Station, only to find that my cell phone had killed its battery in a mere two hours.

I now know why, and it involves a MAJOR &#^%&&^*(!@!@( design defect with the phone, but that's another story.

In any case, I can't contact anyone. I whip out my pager to see if anyone has tried to contact me, but - it's dead, too.

I find myself waiting for the 1/9 train at 34th street, wandering the platforms with my cell phone charger in hand and the phone (plugged into it) in my pocket, looking for an AC outlet from which to snag a precious few moments of the juice. No luck; as perdedor can probably explain in great detail, they appear to have just recently replaced all the utility outlets on the platform with Hubbell 50 amp/125 volt receptacles; you know, the kind with the appliance or air conditioner plug.

I'm forced to spend five minutes at a greasy spoon on 14th street, chatting brightly with the counterperson while my cell phone surreptitiously leeches electrons from the outlet below the cash register. My coffee lasts that long, luckily. Ahhh. contact. The cell phone revives.

I find myself, as I travel the streets, doodling in my head...take my geek vest, and install a common 120VAC line, install versions of all requisite chargers (or even better, a universal adapter, but I dunno if there's one that's universal enough)...Hm. Then, maybe, a spring-loaded self-rewinding power cord, mounted near the wrist...stealthily, I could stalk the outlets! Quietly, I could jack the power. Bring the noise.

Damn. I've become a juice junkie.

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