What goes on in there?

Evidently, I'm odd. Here's a story that totally baffles me (well, O.K., not really). It's a telephone, folks, not The Second Coming, or your life-changing winning lottery ticket, or a cure for cancer. It's an annoying little nag that goes everywhere you do, destroying any sense of privacy you might (or might not) cherish. Peaceful contemplation of your surroundings? Forget about it. Precious moments of isolation? Uh-uh. Not gonna happen. Why, oh why, do people buy these things when they don't actually need them? Doctors - sure. Real estate agents (shudder) - O.K. High-powered, let's-make-a-deal executroids - I suppose so. But, actual people? Normal people?

Oh, sure, you can set them to "Vibro-mode", so they're not ringing (or playing some hideous sound bite from some "indie" band that'll disappear into the aether in a week) constantly. But, admit it, you're waiting for that buzz. And, sure, you can turn them off completely, but they're there, in your pocket, purse, pack or whatever, lurking and you know it and you're wondering what you might be missing. Gad.

By the way - this little rant has absolutely nothing to do with an earlier email keeping me up to date on some good friends' new cell phone numbers. That's important information. Blame, instead, the New York Times and Steve (Drink the Kool-aid, trust me) Jobs.