Because You Never Asked

(6/06)

     Every so often, an invention comes along that changes the landscape of life as we know it, clearly delineating a before and after that indelibly etches itself into history. The steam engine, the automobile, television, etc.

     The widespread use of the cell phone has happened in such a short period of time, it actually challenges our concepts of time.       

     I spent something more than 20 years of my life with no phone at all, including 2 stints of married life totaling 9 years of measured time. How I convinced two emotionally healthy women to live such a life of deprivation is a mystery no scientific research will ever solve. Could this be considered the definition of true love? More illuminating is the fact that we had no trouble being in touch with whoever we needed to be in touch with. The theory was: if you really need me (us) you know where to find me, and vice versa. Believe me, there were no great emergencies during that time frame that slid by unattended to. A telephone would not have changed the course of my life. I do not look back and say, “jeez, if only I’d had a telephone.”

     As my life began to edge towards the frontier of old age, certain practical concerns started to make inroads into my consciousness. I live alone and although my health is generally excellent, the idea that someday I might need immediate attention had reared its ugly head. The cell phone made it easy to capitulate: no hook ups, no phone company, what the hell, let’s go for it.

     I still have the same cell phone I bought back then. It’s place in history is now so obscure that its name, like Desoto or Studebaker, is not even in use anymore. Ericsson has now become Sony-Ericsson, and it could be officially considered an antique. Although it fits rather easily into the palm of my hand and has a clean style that should, in normal techno-evolutionary terms, still be considered contemporary, compared to today’s models its girth could be described as pachydermic and its style archaic. It’s vintage is so remote that it is no longer possible to find a battery for it. The only way it can be used is to hook it up to a charger and speak while it is charging the dead battery occupying its intestinal area. The only outlet in my apartment where this can be done without the use of an advanced yoga position, is in the bathroom. What was once meant to be a device you could go anywhere with, has now been confined to a square yard of space in close proximity to a toilet.

     But the truly distressing part of all this is that this “antique” is only 5 years old and still works as it was meant to. Even when not being charged, it receives messages that will be heard when hooked up. As I remember, the same phones were used in the house I grew up in for maybe 25 years. Am I expected to simply throw this perfectly functioning piece of technology away? Who’s idea is this!?

     The fact that my cell phone use is confined to a bathroom is not nearly the hardship it might seem. I’d sooner step barefoot on a rusty nail than carry one of these things around with me. The plan was to use the artifact only in my home, like the phones of yore, a plan that was never deviated from even when the battery was in its hail and hearty youth. Growing old is almost always an unwelcome part of life, but due to the invention of the cell phone I at least have some consolation for the 6 decades of life now beginning to weigh heavily upon my body. Such longevity means I was not born into the cell phone generation. Although most people my age partake in this technological illusion of happiness, at such an elderly stage in one’s life, resistance is still possible.  For the newer generations, this is not an option. Life before the “cell” is unknown and unimaginable. The “cell” has now become an obligatory part of a fulfilling life. Young people (and most others) now cling to them in the same way a nicotine addict is attached to a pack of cigarettes.

     In spite of the fact that my cell phone is still capable of doing whatever it was meant to do --- which, for me, was far more than enough --- today’s models can perform an infinite range of tasks that would make my old Ericsson seem like a black and white TV. I have a friend who recently went down to the local cell phone store and asked to buy one that was just a telephone --- no video games, no instant updates from the NFL, no Jennifer Anniston gossip, no cellulite cures, no cameras, no pictures of pineapple breasted nymphs licking salami sized members, “just a goddam telephone!”

     This is no longer an option.

     Did I say camera? Today’s cell phone is somewhat of an optical illusion, like those pictures that turn into something completely different when seen from another direction. If you take that cell phone you always hold in a vertical position, turn it onto the horizontal plane, and then find that little glass covered hole you hadn’t noticed before --- voila! A camera.

     I once saw an ad for one of these toys on TV. A teen age boy was sitting at a lunch counter blissfully eating a burger with all the delicacy of a Viking just back from the battlefield. There was ketchup, onions, and a virtual rainbow of condiments oozing down his chin, onto his shirt, yechh! Meanwhile, a teen age girl, armed with one of these cell phone-cameras (obligatory), is surreptitiously taking pictures of the lad from a far off booth.

     Bad enough, but we are just beginning.

     If I remember the commercial correctly, the teen age girl was not only taking pictures of the unsuspecting fellow, she was sending them off to a friend who had just started to go out with this guy, just to show her what a slob he was.

     OK class, let’s review the facts as they stand: someone is secretly taking pictures --- moving pictures! --- of someone else and is able to send them instantly, anywhere in the world --- Jersey City, Death Valley, Albania, next door --- to anyone with access to the internet. Perhaps it is now necessary to remind the reader that the commercial was trumpeting this ability as something worthwhile and wonderful. You too could be doing this.

     Am I the only person in the world who finds this somewhat disturbing? I’ve spoken to a number of people about this light hearted espionage and the most I get is a smile and a shrug. It’s just too much fun to worry about.

     So here I am, sitting on the terrazza overlooking the splendid Spanish Mediterranean landscape of sun dappled beauty where I spend 2 months of every year. It’s a beautiful morning, bathed richly in the famous light of the Hellenic-Roman world, a light that has served the artist in our species for thousands of years. A steady breeze has cleared the air and the blue dome of our planet’s ceiling is clearly spread above, smudged with some wispy filaments of high cloud. Two kilometers across the inlet, the background of brownish-green hills with the spots of white and beige colored houses seem freshly painted on an artist’s easel in the clear morning air. As one would expect on such a lovely day, there is a healthy turnout of vacationers on the terrazza, café con leche, croissants, toast and marmalade, a newspaper unraveled, a glass of orange juice.

     That’s the good news.

     The bad news is that cell phones are going off all around me like artillery shells on a WWI battlefield. Each one “rings” with a DJ’s supply of varying music. “Yes, we’re here --- no, no problems --- uh huh, last night --- they lost one of our bags --- what? --- yes, it’s beautiful --- the temperature? --- it’s raining back home?”

     Banal trivialities. So this is the life style we are fighting all these oil wars for?

     Perhaps it is inexcusable for me to scheme up essays like this in the presence of such innocent behavior. Perhaps I should be pitied, or chastised for the elitist disdain with which I question this. Who am I to examine the motives for this farce? But maybe the question should be, “why should any of us not question this?” Is it an indication of ever more insecure people desperately finding refuge in each other? Are we simply bored to death in a hyper-stimulated world? Do we need this incessant titillation more and more? Have we forgotten how to relax, to disconnect, to enjoy the eternal, simple pleasures?

     I don’t know. But there is one thing I do know: every time I hear one of these things ring, I’m glad it’s not for me.