Bizarro is made possible by a grant from the Level Forests Initiative. "Making trees work for you."
Instead of carping about the Bush administration's disastrous environmental policies, let's talk about cell phones.
I held off getting one until relatively late in the game. I don't like talking on the phone very much and dislike being "available" 24/7, so the prospect was not attractive. I don't remember what year I finally gave in, but by that time, most humans on the planet down to age 12-or-so, had one.
Now just about every kid old enough to hold one has one. I saw a five-year-old in NYC walking down the street with his yuppie mom, while talking on his cell phone. True story, my throat is still sore from the dry heaves. Soon, we will be able to hear the muffled tinkle of those hideous electronic "musical" ring tones emanating from the bulging stomachs of pregnant women. A sonogram will be nothing more than a quick call to the uterus. "How are you feeling? Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. And how many fingers and toes? Mm-hmm, good. Now look down between your legs...anything sticking out?"
The worst thing about cell phones to my mind is the prospect of being killed by a driver on their phone. States outlaw phone use without a hands-free device, but it doesn't address the deeper issue: the problem is not so much your hands as your attention. A person in the car with you will innately stop a conversation when you need to concentrate because they see the same things you do. A person on a phone just keeps yammering, which divides your attention in a different, more exclusive way.
I realize that sounds uncharacteristically brainy of me, but that's only because I didn't think it up. I heard it discussed by some behavior study brain guy on the radio.
The next worst thing about cell phones is the volume with which some people speak. I cannot understand why some people think you must shout into a phone. That hasn't been true since Sheriff Taylor used to call Aunt Bea from the courthouse. It's a phone, not a paper cup and string. Keep it down, please.
By the way, this idea was suggested by my kooky buddy, Derek, who used to be a lumberjack, but denies being an ass.