So one month into cell phone ownership and things are going smoothly.  We haven’t gotten out first bill yet but we stayed within our minutes by miles.

One thing I still don’t quite get is this whole ring tone business.  Time was, back in the day, vibrate was the only classy way to go.  Not only inconspicuous and totally non-intrusive in the shared aural landscape, it was also a fun little party in your pants. 

Boy have times changed.

Now, not only is letting your cell phone ring encouraged, the ring itself (like iPod skins and bedazzling the shell of your phone) has become an emblem of your personality and character. 

Maybe I’m old fashioned, but a simple “ring-ring” will do me just fine.  But alas, there is no such thing.  There are however, bleeps, boops, “cosmic tonal oscillations,” that asshole Motorola VO guy saying, “Helllllooooo, Moto!!,” or for an extra $2.99, the chorus of Madonna’s “Hung Up” from Confessions from a Dance Floor, or worse yet, any other damn song for that matter.

And worse just came to worst.  Emanating from the adjoining office, which belongs to a nice, middle aged woman who carries a rolling suitcase to work, was the cell phone ring tone version of the chorus to “Memory” from the musical Cats.

Now, I’ve seen more than my fair share of musicals and while I don’t generally like them, I do have soft spots for a number of songs in the showtune catalogue. 

But I don’t want that information to be announced to the world without some oversight.  I don’t wanting to be in the middle of chilling hard with my hip friends and suddenly have the chorus to “Seasons of Love” from Rent come blaring out of my cell phone because Mary Milan decided it would be funny to make me lose my manhood by calling. 

“Dude, was that your fiancee calling to remind you where you left your balls?”

Fuck.  That shit would be embarassing. 

Like your Netflix queue reflects your cinematic inclinations and your shopping list reflects your gastronomical tastes, a song on your ringtone lets mixed company know of your musical tastes (and in this case, a preference of live theatre). 

What does “Memory” say about this woman (like we need to get into it)?  It bears mentioning that there is nothing ironic about her choosing this song as her ringtone. 

She loves musicals and “Memory” might be her favorite song…of all songs ever written.  Making “Memory” her ringtone is not a lukewarm choice.  By choosing it, she forsakes all other songs in the Andrew Lloyd Weber oeuvre and on a global scale, all other songs which have been ringtoned.  Now what that says about her I don’t want to get into.

So it’s her favorite song…of all time.  Whatever.  That’s Kool and the Gang for her.  Who am I to judge her?        

But I just think some things are best left to the privacy of your own home and selifshly, I don’t need the image of her with her wrinkly, smoker’s skin and brittle yellow-orange hair, in a cat suit, prowling around her house, pawing at a framed picture of Michael Crawford and singing:

Touch me/It’s so easy to leave me/All alone with the memory/Of my days in the sun/If you touch me/You’ll understand what happiness is/Look, a new day has begun.

I just don’t need that shit. 

 

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