Haley Joel Osment, the wunderkind from the movie Sixth Sense faces some very unpleasant charges. Without ringing the apologist bell for a child star, his case suggests something more disturbing than legal problems.

Police arrested the It Boy of just a few session past, a competent actor who works regularly in decent pictures, after a car accident. Sounds like another child star gone bad so far, but there’s a twist. Haley was driving a 1995 Saturn.

This shocker might explain M. Night and Steven Spielberg’s enormous wealth. Their pictures make crazy bank, yet they pay the talent in crackerjacks and lollipops. An eleven year old Saturn? He might as well have been riding a Huffy. Note to his parents: Please get the I-see-dead-people kid a real paycheck and a car from this century. And fire his agent.

After 15 years of staying one move ahead of my high school alumni foundation, somehow they found my actual home address. Which is incredibly annoying, since all my mail goes to a private mail box, a habit less about privacy and more about convenience; the outfit can accept any sort of package from any commercial shipper plus first class mail. This service spares me many trips to UPS on weekends — well worth the yearly fee.

Now, if the school mailed the private mail box address, I would understand. The address is out there for anyone who looks. But littering up my stoop with pleas to adjust my directory profile is an act of war.

I did what any sane person would do with the postcard. In clear letters, I wrote DECEASED. RETURN TO SENDER, blacked out my address, and put it in the nearest drop box.

The back of a heat wave that morphed the Tri-State area into a free-for-all sauna over the last three days breaks at 8pm. And I am counting the seconds. I’d crack its spine with a sledgehammer myself, were this maneuver possible.

Over the last several years, mild summers and the remnants of youth lulled me to believe that I might commute without proper air conditioning. The car A/C worked for the first 4 seasons, then went on strike last year. Really, not much of a problem, because temperate days were so rare. Surely good weather lasts forever. And so I balked at paying for a repair job. Chalk up another error of not listening to the Wife.

Welcome to Planet Pain.

Today is the best of the hot snap; it only felt like 103 degrees. Which brings me to the only trait I share with the late Hunter S. Thompson: neither of us can express ourselves in oppressive climates.

Pity the cold callers who reach me at work. At home I have a little more patience with them, though barely. Today I ripped into one during an unsolicited phone call. The company has contacted the school several times about a product that extends the life of toner cartridges. In theory this sounds great; however, in practice I have neither heard of the corporation nor anyone who uses their products. Needless to say, my defenses touch off whenever a call starts with, am I speaking with the person in charge of ( insert technical commodity ). Today marks the second instance that one of their representatives tried wooing me.

A sample of the first:
Leech: Am I speaking with the person in charge of the printer maintenance?
Sam: Yes.
Leech: Good. How are you today, sir?
Sam: Better when this call ends, I think.
Leech: My companys makes a product that does X for just Y you can have 500 units.
Sam: I’m not buying 500 units of something I’ve never heard of.
Leech: Oh, well we have a special 250 unit pack. Would that be better?
Sam: Not really.
Leech: Since you are so concerned about value, I’d like to offer you the 100 unit pack. That’s a savings of almost 75 percent!
Sam: I know what would work for me. Send me some company literature, and I’ll review it and then decide.
Leech: How about a 25 unit pack? That’s 95 percent off.
Sam: How about you put something in writing, then I get back to you. Here’s our mailing address.
Leech ( hangs up )

One month later….

SonOfLeech: Am I speaking to the person in charge of the printers?
Sam: Yes.
SonOfLeech: I’m from X company and we sell a product that solves all your toner woes.
Sam: I think I spoke with someone before from your company. You have a 500, 250 and 100 unit pack right?
SonOfLeech: Yes. Which can I put you down for?
Sam: Put me down for company literature.
SonOfLeech: Sir, this will save money on toner cartridges….
Sam: Here’s my mailing address. Unless you are willing to put this offer in writing and send me a catalog, we’re not doing business.
SonOfLeech: But..
Sam: Do you want the address?
SonOfLeech: Have a good day, sir.
Sam ( hangs up )

Dear God, please fill them with the courage to call again. I want to test out my “psycho” tech guy routine.