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Forget the hard cell approach
I don’t have a cellphone.
I know that puts me amidst the Neanderthals and the Cro-Magnons, but I just don’t like them.
I do plenty of talking on the phone at work, thanks.
Coaches calling in scores. Parents calling in story ideas. More coaches calling in scores. More parents calling in story ideas.
Not that I mind, but a good chunk of most days are spent answering the phone.
So when I leave the office, the last thing I want is a phone riding shot gun. When I get in the car, I listen to music.
There’s a phone hanging off the kitchen wall at home, so I am not exactly incommunicado. I’m not living in a cave doing stick drawings of sabre tooth tigers, mastodons and women who have never flossed, brushed their hair or heard of Dr. Oz.
The theory when we bought our first cellphone in the Evans house was it was for emergency purposes only.
If one of the kids had car trouble. If one of the kids needed bail money. If one of the kids had to be reached at 4:30 in the morning to find out how come they left for the corner drugstore six and a half hours ago and hadn’t come home yet.
But quickly, emergencies devolved into the mundane.
My wife calls me from the driveway. She calls me from the garage. She calls her friends from hither, yon and all points in between. She uses the house phone to call her cell phone when it’s wedged between the cushions on our couch and she can't find it.
Since I don’t have a cell phone, that means I don’t text either.
I can hear the collective gasp of horror from here to the Continental Divide.
Speaking of the Continental Divide, what is it with cellphones these days? They are much more than just phones. They are computers with miniscule monitors.
They tell you where to eat Chinese. They give you the weather in Bejing. They give you the movie times. They give you the time in Istanbul.
They assure you that you do indeed know Uranus from a hole in the ground. Mars and Venus, too.
I am fine without a cellphone. I am fine without instantaneous information on everything from the Kardashians to the Karzai.
I wonder whatever happened to the encyclopedia salesmen who used to go door-to-door?
You know, the guys with the very prominent foreheads wearing animal skins.
I know that puts me amidst the Neanderthals and the Cro-Magnons, but I just don’t like them.
I do plenty of talking on the phone at work, thanks.
Coaches calling in scores. Parents calling in story ideas. More coaches calling in scores. More parents calling in story ideas.
Not that I mind, but a good chunk of most days are spent answering the phone.
So when I leave the office, the last thing I want is a phone riding shot gun. When I get in the car, I listen to music.
There’s a phone hanging off the kitchen wall at home, so I am not exactly incommunicado. I’m not living in a cave doing stick drawings of sabre tooth tigers, mastodons and women who have never flossed, brushed their hair or heard of Dr. Oz.
The theory when we bought our first cellphone in the Evans house was it was for emergency purposes only.
If one of the kids had car trouble. If one of the kids needed bail money. If one of the kids had to be reached at 4:30 in the morning to find out how come they left for the corner drugstore six and a half hours ago and hadn’t come home yet.
But quickly, emergencies devolved into the mundane.
My wife calls me from the driveway. She calls me from the garage. She calls her friends from hither, yon and all points in between. She uses the house phone to call her cell phone when it’s wedged between the cushions on our couch and she can't find it.
Since I don’t have a cell phone, that means I don’t text either.
I can hear the collective gasp of horror from here to the Continental Divide.
Speaking of the Continental Divide, what is it with cellphones these days? They are much more than just phones. They are computers with miniscule monitors.
They tell you where to eat Chinese. They give you the weather in Bejing. They give you the movie times. They give you the time in Istanbul.
They assure you that you do indeed know Uranus from a hole in the ground. Mars and Venus, too.
I am fine without a cellphone. I am fine without instantaneous information on everything from the Kardashians to the Karzai.
I wonder whatever happened to the encyclopedia salesmen who used to go door-to-door?
You know, the guys with the very prominent foreheads wearing animal skins.
posted by Unknown at
6:39 PM
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