June 30, 2005
Cell Phones: the New Cigarettes?
For reasons I sometimes have difficulty remembering, I decided to go back to school a couple years ago, to start whittling away at a master's degree. As a result, much of what used to be my free time is now spent in classrooms listening to professors lecture me about concepts I hope never to actually use (since my blog will no doubt carry me on a meteoric path to riches and fame). During this latest stint in the academic trenches, I've noticed some strange new trends among my fellow students.
For one thing, they're mostly younger than me. For another, when I am around them, I seem to have perfected the cloaking technology so often touted on Star Trek: particularly among the younger, more attractive female students, I am apparently completely invisible. But that's okay with me, being as I am happily betrothed to a beautiful woman smart enough (or sympathetic enough) to laugh at the majority of my jokes.
But the oddest thing I've observed is the role that the cell phone seems to play in all my classmates' lives. It seems to fall somewhere between a cigarette and a scuba tank. Or maybe an IV. Whatever flows from these phones is apparently every bit as essential to these students as air, nicotine, or morphine ever were to a human, smoker, or addict, respectively.
Night classes tend to be long: two or three hours, usually. So most professors are merciful enough to allow a brief break at approximately the midpoint in the evening. The very moment the professor does so, everybody frantically flips their phones open, desperate to reconnect with the outside world after having spent an entire hour or two deprived of such essential telephonic contact. Most have their phones to their ears and are engaged in conversation before they even make it out of the classroom. This phenomena reminds me of when I was in college the first time around, when each of the smokers in the class would have an unlit cigarette dangling from his or her lips during the last 30 seconds of the lecture, and would take off like an Olympic sprinter leaving the starting blocks the second the professor gave the word, eagerly fumbling for a lighter as they hurried off towards carcinogenic bliss.
I don't know - I'm just not a phone guy. I get on the phone with one goal only: to get off the phone. These people are my polar opposites, struggling and straining against the few times in their daily lives when the rules of polite society prevent their ears from being umbilically attached to their Nokias.
And what the hell do they talk about? What the hell is so urgent? I'm no eavesdropper, but sometimes I can't help overhearing some truly scintillating snippets. The following is a pretty good representation of a typical conversation. Of course, I'm only hearing one side of it. I've got to assume things are pretty freaking exciting on the other end of the line.
Yeah, I can see why you wouldn't want to miss out on something like ... like whatever the hell that was. And thank God for call waiting - otherwise they might miss out on, you know, like, whatever.
A lifeline or a leash.
For me a cell phone became a necessary evil. Although this may be hard for most of my readers to believe, my blog has yet to make me as rich or as famous as one might assume. Hence, I have historically owned and driven automobiles that are, shall we say, somewhat past their prime. Oh hell, not to put too fine a point on things, but I've been towed so many times I get Christmas cards from the AAA tow truck dispatchers I've befriended over the years. One of my cars was even immortalized by friends who repeatedly dragged it to one mechanic or another as the "Dodge on a rope" (a reference that will only resonate with those of the appropriate vintage to remember the famous "soap on a rope" that hung in the showers of suburban bathrooms across the land in the 70's or 80's). But I digress.
What I'm getting at is that for me, driving has historically been a game of automotive Russian Roulette. So, particularly given the steady decline in the number of working payphones that can be found in this great country, a cell phone became essential. I am not kidding when I tell you that my car actually broke down just hours after I purchased my first cell phone, an event that instead of angering me, actually vindicated me, making me feel much better about having invested so much money into a communication device for which I felt so little interest or enthusiasm. I bought a cell phone in case my car broke down. My car swiftly proved this to be a prudent purchase. Thank you, Lee Iacocca.
As my income slowly rose, and my daughter grew into something that was either puberty or demonic possession, my view of this reviled device began to shift. While my conversations with AAA dispatchers dwindled, I found a whole new application for cell phones: as a leash. It was worth every penny it cost to equip my daughter with one of these machines, rendering it far more difficult for her to drop off my radar. While she still seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time in areas that had "bad cell coverage" (her explanation for calls from me that went unanswered), it still made it a hell of a lot easier to keep tabs on her during the somewhat less than angelic phase she went through before turning into the college brainiac she's now showing herself to be.
But despite the fact that she has successfully evolved beyond the sullen teen stage, I fear she still has more in common with my fellow classmates than she does with me. Many times when she's visiting me, her cell phone will ring, and I'll find our visit interrupted by some conversational déjà vu:
In Other News
A really good argument for having an "Undo" key
A typo by a stock trader in Taiwan resulted in her mistakenly purchasing $251 million in stock from Merrill Lynch.
No refund was offered. The stock trader was fired. Word has it, Merrill Lynch threw "one helluva party."
This, my friends, is free trade at its best. Caveat emptor, baby. Caveat emptor.
The Daily Haiku
Today's poem focuses on the device most likely to become a surgical implant in the not-so-distant future: the cell phone.
Nicely Put:
The October sky was as blue as sky gets in New Jersey, and the air felt crisp and lacking hydrocarbons. It was nice for a change, but it kind of took all the sport out of breathing.
- Janet Evanovich: High Five
For one thing, they're mostly younger than me. For another, when I am around them, I seem to have perfected the cloaking technology so often touted on Star Trek: particularly among the younger, more attractive female students, I am apparently completely invisible. But that's okay with me, being as I am happily betrothed to a beautiful woman smart enough (or sympathetic enough) to laugh at the majority of my jokes.
But the oddest thing I've observed is the role that the cell phone seems to play in all my classmates' lives. It seems to fall somewhere between a cigarette and a scuba tank. Or maybe an IV. Whatever flows from these phones is apparently every bit as essential to these students as air, nicotine, or morphine ever were to a human, smoker, or addict, respectively.
Night classes tend to be long: two or three hours, usually. So most professors are merciful enough to allow a brief break at approximately the midpoint in the evening. The very moment the professor does so, everybody frantically flips their phones open, desperate to reconnect with the outside world after having spent an entire hour or two deprived of such essential telephonic contact. Most have their phones to their ears and are engaged in conversation before they even make it out of the classroom. This phenomena reminds me of when I was in college the first time around, when each of the smokers in the class would have an unlit cigarette dangling from his or her lips during the last 30 seconds of the lecture, and would take off like an Olympic sprinter leaving the starting blocks the second the professor gave the word, eagerly fumbling for a lighter as they hurried off towards carcinogenic bliss.
I don't know - I'm just not a phone guy. I get on the phone with one goal only: to get off the phone. These people are my polar opposites, struggling and straining against the few times in their daily lives when the rules of polite society prevent their ears from being umbilically attached to their Nokias.
And what the hell do they talk about? What the hell is so urgent? I'm no eavesdropper, but sometimes I can't help overhearing some truly scintillating snippets. The following is a pretty good representation of a typical conversation. Of course, I'm only hearing one side of it. I've got to assume things are pretty freaking exciting on the other end of the line.
Hey.
Nothing.
I don't know. What are you doing?
You know, nothing. Just, you know, in class.
I don't know. Nothing, I guess.
I don't care.
I guess.
Nothing.
Cool.
Nothing.
Yeah, right.
Cool.
Nothing.
You know, like, whatever.
Hold on - I've got another call.
Hey.
Nothing.
I don't know. What are you doing?
You know, nothing. Just, you know, in class.
I don't know. Nothing, I guess.
I don't care.
I guess.
Nothing.
Yeah, I can see why you wouldn't want to miss out on something like ... like whatever the hell that was. And thank God for call waiting - otherwise they might miss out on, you know, like, whatever.
A lifeline or a leash.
For me a cell phone became a necessary evil. Although this may be hard for most of my readers to believe, my blog has yet to make me as rich or as famous as one might assume. Hence, I have historically owned and driven automobiles that are, shall we say, somewhat past their prime. Oh hell, not to put too fine a point on things, but I've been towed so many times I get Christmas cards from the AAA tow truck dispatchers I've befriended over the years. One of my cars was even immortalized by friends who repeatedly dragged it to one mechanic or another as the "Dodge on a rope" (a reference that will only resonate with those of the appropriate vintage to remember the famous "soap on a rope" that hung in the showers of suburban bathrooms across the land in the 70's or 80's). But I digress.
What I'm getting at is that for me, driving has historically been a game of automotive Russian Roulette. So, particularly given the steady decline in the number of working payphones that can be found in this great country, a cell phone became essential. I am not kidding when I tell you that my car actually broke down just hours after I purchased my first cell phone, an event that instead of angering me, actually vindicated me, making me feel much better about having invested so much money into a communication device for which I felt so little interest or enthusiasm. I bought a cell phone in case my car broke down. My car swiftly proved this to be a prudent purchase. Thank you, Lee Iacocca.
As my income slowly rose, and my daughter grew into something that was either puberty or demonic possession, my view of this reviled device began to shift. While my conversations with AAA dispatchers dwindled, I found a whole new application for cell phones: as a leash. It was worth every penny it cost to equip my daughter with one of these machines, rendering it far more difficult for her to drop off my radar. While she still seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time in areas that had "bad cell coverage" (her explanation for calls from me that went unanswered), it still made it a hell of a lot easier to keep tabs on her during the somewhat less than angelic phase she went through before turning into the college brainiac she's now showing herself to be.
But despite the fact that she has successfully evolved beyond the sullen teen stage, I fear she still has more in common with my fellow classmates than she does with me. Many times when she's visiting me, her cell phone will ring, and I'll find our visit interrupted by some conversational déjà vu:
Hey.
Nothing.
I don't know. What are you doing?
You know, nothing. Just, you know, at my dad's.
I don't know. Nothing, I guess.
I don't care.
I guess.
Nothing.
Hold on - I've got another call.
In Other News
A really good argument for having an "Undo" key
A typo by a stock trader in Taiwan resulted in her mistakenly purchasing $251 million in stock from Merrill Lynch.
No refund was offered. The stock trader was fired. Word has it, Merrill Lynch threw "one helluva party."
This, my friends, is free trade at its best. Caveat emptor, baby. Caveat emptor.
The Daily Haiku
Today's poem focuses on the device most likely to become a surgical implant in the not-so-distant future: the cell phone.
Anytime Minutes
Want to piss me off?
Call me on my cell and ask,
"Can you hear me now?"
Nicely Put:
The October sky was as blue as sky gets in New Jersey, and the air felt crisp and lacking hydrocarbons. It was nice for a change, but it kind of took all the sport out of breathing.
- Janet Evanovich: High Five
