The song title La donna é mobile (From Verdi’s Rigoletto), I always thought meant “Hey Donna, can I borrow your mobile”? But, sadly, it doesn’t. It means something like ‘The woman is fickle’. Shame, because I like my translation better.
From Wikipedia, bile is “a dark green to yellowish brown fluid, produced by the liver of most vertebrates, that aids the digestion of lipids in the small intestine”. That is the perfect way to describe my thoughts of moBILE phones.
They are everywhere. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if suddenly, an alien species erupted on Earth. One green bug-eyed alien alighting from deep within each of those slabs of glass, metal and plastic that you’re probably reading this on right now! E.T. won’t need to ‘phone home’ then, will he?
I believe that these personal ‘slabs’ have become far too popular! When I was a kid, we didn’t even have a phone! Didn’t need one! Yes OK, so we had someone in the family with heart trouble, but if they went a bit wobbly, we would simply run down the street, cross over it, round the corner, over another road, down past the pub and straight into the phone box. Simple! It was either that, or knock the neighbours up at (CENSORED) O’Clock in the morning, asking to be let in to use theirs. We did get a telephone, eventually. I was Nineteen-and-one-quarter before one of those contraptions entered our house. Yes, a ‘Telephone’. Actually INSIDE our house! Imagine that? There were two whole choices back then, you either got a sort of square one, with the sound of a ringing bell as your ‘ring-tone’, or you could have a ‘trim-phone’ which made a sort of trilling sound. But, Oh My was it ever sexy? It was all curvy and voluptuous and…AHEM! I’m sorry, the ‘old days’ do get me a bit teary eyed. Now, where was I?
Why do I hate them so much? The ‘phone’ part of the whole thing is nearly irrelevant, that’s why! Go on, ask yourself, how many times do you use them to call somebody? That much? Oh. Well most people I know seem to text, or check social media updates, or take pretty pictures, or check their calendar, or search for a recipe on one of them there ‘apps’ thingies, or do any of a million other things. That’s the trouble, they’re so darned versatile. Why can’t you just queue at the phone-box in the rain like we all used to, back in the good-old-days? You’ve probably put thousands of diary makers, calendar makers, cartographers (map-makers), recipe book publishers, etc, etc, out of work! All because you can now do everything on your tablet and I’ll bet that’s the bitterest pill you’ve ever had to swallow right there! (Disclaimer: Please don’t try to do EVERYTHING on your ‘device’, could be a bit messy).
I do however, love cinema, but I hate, hate, HATE it when people use their phone in the cinema. You can see them everywhere, lighting up the dark, with their rectangular, bright flashy lights illuminating the inky blackness, like excited fans, waving their lighters about at a music festival! I like to try and guess where the last one to turn off will be, about a few seconds after the movie starts. Though sometimes one or more will stay on through the whole movie, as ‘wotstheirname’ texts his/her friend with the latest story updates during the whole ruddy movie! Ooooooh! Then, the very moment the credits roll, up they pop! Lights in the ceiling come on and phones in the seating area come on even quicker to check social media updates or ring the kids, or to see how Auntie Emily‘s amputation went. Nowadays though, it’s even worse. The cinema actually tells you to turn your phone ON (as if it was EVER turned off) and to check their in-house app, to play along with this or that game or whatever. The CINEMA! Oh the shame of it. Makes my blood boil! I had a lady plonked herself down in front of me once, she was just ‘that’ tall. You know the one, ever so slightly taller than the bottom of the screen, so that a bit of the picture had a semi-circle of black hair right in the middle of it! Ooh! Then, just as I was taking yet another bite out of my extra-large hot-dog, her darned ring-tone went off, barking like a dog. Well, how my barbecue sauce that squirted right out of the roll and shot towards her seat, didn’t hit her and go straight down the back of her giraffe-length neck, I’ll never know. Even James Bond peered out of the screen at her, trying to find his next target.
But now I’m ashamed. I have to admit that, due to unforeseen circumstances, I have to get one. A smart-phone of my very own. Oh the ignominy! We have a mobile already, but a really old one. We also live in a place that has next to no signal. So if you want to make a call or send a text (that’s all it does, hurray!) You have to stand on the end of a branch on the apple tree, place the phone between your toes and stick that leg up at 45 degrees like a girl on a ballet barre and wahaay! A signal, albeit one bar only. That is also with the ‘best’ provider for our area. I think that’s only a half-G signal even then. Why do they call them SMARTphones? If they were so smart, they’d find a way of making my bill either nil, or lower than it actually is! But to think, I have to have one. Think of a broken man, bent over and walking along shaking his head, while staring at the floor in shame. That’s me right there!
Have a great week & be sure to call back soon, just please don’t do it on your mobile!