Envy? Has a ring to it
It’s the embarrassing medical condition all men fear, but few discuss. No, not that one. I wouldn’t discuss that one either. Well, at least not with you. Actually, I refer to L.A.’s newest mental health epidemic: a rather nasty, debilitating little bug known in psychiatric circles as CPE -- Cell Phone Envy.
Disease overview: The nagging feeling that your friend’s phone can do so much more than your wretched little device.
Symptom: Sore neck from straining to see how in the world he’s downloading movie trailers on his Internet-enabled phone, while you’re still gunning for high score in a monochromatic version of Tetris.
Treatment: Not much you can do, actually. By the time you wait for your current contract to end, transfer your number, sign a two-year deal and fork over the cash, your “new” feature-laden cellphone will be hopelessly outdated -- putting you right back in the same situation.
Can you hear me now?
A little background: A 1960s-era U.S. secret agent named Maxwell Smart was the first known American to regularly use a mobile phone (conveniently built right into the heel of his shoe). Amazing that it held up under that kind of abuse, considering my phone breaks during a light drizzle.
By contrast, Mr. Smart used his sturdy “shoe phone” to keep America safe, outwit foreign spies and make dinner dates with the tall, brilliant and quite dazzling Agent 99.
Oh, how I’d love to spend some night and weekend minutes with her!
Flash forward a few decades, and basically everyone has a cellphone -- though not in their shoes. Well, not yet. I held off getting one at all for many years because of the correct assumption that no one was actually trying to reach me.
Apparently, most of L.A.’s top editors have my number on their own personal “Do Not Call” list.
As it is, my friends get a big chuckle out of my current cellphone because it’s nearly the size of a barstool. Never mind the 8-inch antenna. And rotary dial.
The newest cellphone features change rapidly, so you have to keep up. Camera phones (how quaint) quickly evolved into phones that shoot actual video, which is great, because now the three people in L.A. who still haven’t started making their first feature film can finally get cracking.
A co-worker was kind enough to let me screen a couple of her cellphone movie “projects” currently in production. The first one’s called “Shaky Footage of People Walking Aimlessly Past My Office Door in Bad Lighting,” which will make a great double feature with her hilarious new comedy: “The Inside of My Purse.”
Someone tell the academy to get a new category ready: “And now the winner for best cellphone film: ‘My Kid Dropped His Sippy Cup in the Navigator.’ Accepting the award: Timmy’s mommy.”
I’m also one of the few people left who still has to hold the phone to his ear. More and more people have now gone “hands-free,” which is a great idea while driving but may cause some embarrassing moments inside a grocery store. Like the time a really cute woman in frozen foods smiled straight at me and purred, “I love you, honey. Hurry home!”
Just like that. Wow. After all these years, I thought, my ship had come in.
“Oh, I-I love you too,” I stammered. “Where do you live? I’ll be right over.” She seemed annoyed but fortunately declined to press charges.
Many phones now use “voice-activated dialing” -- meaning you can just tell your phone whom you’d like it to call. I hear future phones will even talk back to you -- perhaps in the same tone as your wife.
“Call Chinese restaurant,” you command.
“Huh?” the phone counters. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about something else.”
“I said -- call Chinese restaurant.”
“You’ve got to be kidding! We ordered from there the past two nights. Give me a break!”
“Fine. You pick a place.”
“Well, we haven’t had Italian in a while.”
“Whatever.”
“Boy, are you in a mood!”
While all these features are nice, nothing gets more attention than a really happening ring tone. These days, many Hollywood hipsters answer their phones to the sounds of Gwen Stefani or Weezer, but on the rare occasion someone calls me, all I can get out of my phone is an actual “ring.” Or a scratchy tune that sounds somewhat like Air Supply.
Howard Leff can be reached at weekend@latimes.com.
