Every once in a while, some enterprising soul tries to talk me into getting a sell-u-liar phone. I’m the only guy on the island without one. This is a poor reflection on my societal standing, given that sell-u-liars are conspicuous status symbols here.<\/p>\n
The theory\u2013-insofar as I can follow it\u2013-is that Important People must constantly be In Touch at a moment’s notice. This badge of sophistication is always displayed here at lunch and dinner outings, when everyone who’s anyone has to place some kind of urgent call, lest the world spin off its axis and we all fall off from a lack of gravity.<\/p>\n
Of course, I’ve stumbled into scientific myth here on the spinning\/gravity front, since we all know the earth is really flat, and that if it was indeed spinning we’d all get dizzy. I don’t know how all those myths to the contrary ever got started.<\/p>\n
Another myth, ventured by well meaning souls and associates, is that I should crave Instant Communications with whoever wants to reach me. No thanks, pal. Never mind all that fluff in pop-psychology circles about communications being a “two way street.” Effective communication is really a one-way street. Hence the intrinsic superiority of the written word.<\/p>\n
Very little of what is said is ever important, while a great deal of what’s written is. Furthermore, people who talk a lot tend to be chronic liars, so why bother listening?<\/p>\n
The virtue of telephony (weird word, eh? I think the accent is on the second syllable) isn’t the spoken word, it’s the fact that it can now carry text. This, of course, is what sparked today’s industrial revolution\u2013-the Internet age.<\/p>\n
I’m not discounting the business virtues of sell-u-liar phones; they’re an important tool for some managers, salesman, and such. Fair enough. And they make good use of time that would otherwise be squandered when you’re sitting in traffic or waiting for your first round of drinks to arrive at Club Jama. Fair enough, too.<\/p>\n
As for your humble scribe (that’s me), though, I don’t know what I could accomplish in my car via the phone. My files are in my office. My computers are, too. Books, ditto. Calculators, ditto again. My Tahitian maid, ditto yet once more.<\/p>\n
In fact, the only thing I can really do in my car is gripe about the traffic, or jam out to In-A-Godda-Da-Vida if Travis Kaufman plays it on his morning radio show. Travis, though, has a sell-u-liar. He’s One of Them. Everybody but me is One of Them. And you wonder why I’ve got a siege mentality.<\/p>\n
But if you’re still wondering why I don’t wander around with an piece of plastic glued to my ear like a colostomy bag for my brain, then go ahead and call me. The number is 1-800-GO AWAY.<\/p>\n
Or, we can broach the issue if you see me by the side of the road, on some dark night, in the rain, stranded because my car threw a rod and I’m incommunicado…So maybe a cell phone ain’t such a bad idea, after all, but I’m too far down this dirt road of defiance to ever admit the error of my ways.<\/p>\n
Ed Stephens, Jr. is an economist and columnist for the Saipan Tribune. \u201cEd4Saipan@yahoo.com\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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