Seinfeld and Cell Phones

I loved the show Seinfeld. It was the I Love Lucy of my generation. In fact one might observe that my blog writing is often Jerry-esque. Much of what I post concerns the minutia of life and the absurd way it becomes relevant.

But what I have noticed of late when I stumble upon a Seinfeld rerun is Jerry’s huge cordless phone with its long antennae. I remember that if you answered one of those cordless phones and you didn’t pull the antennae fully you had no reception. You also couldn’t walk more than 15 feet without it cutting out. It is amazing how phones have evolved. We have gone from corded, to cordless to cellular and beyond.

Early on I was not necessarily interested in the type of cell phone that I owned. All I cared about was that it had service and that it was light weight. And when my girls begged for pink Motorola razors and the early Blackberry models I remained content with my cheap Samsung model. But what I did care about in those days was my ring tone. My ringtone was very important. That was the thing that defined me. The song my phone played told the world who I was in just a few notes. It was the thing that I spent way too much time researching on the internet and downloading.

For many years I was on the executive committee of PTA. In my day PTA was a powerful organization. Our relationship with central administration would best be described as healthy (and sometimes unhealthy) tension. And as a group every six weeks or so, depending on the dates of Board of Education meetings we would meet behind closed doors with central administration to discuss educational issues and resolution strategies. Often the discussion became heated—very adversarial as both parties understood the gravity of the stakes. And it was during a very very intense discussion between a headstrong member of the executive PTA committee and the superintendent of schools where teeth were bared, claws escaped retraction, and tempers were barely at bay when my cell phone went off.

And as I fumbled through my handbag to locate it all eyes in the room shot hateful looks at me—except for two people: Dr. McDermott the assistant superintendent for Curriculum and my friend Lynn. They were the only ones who—understanding the heat of the moment—understanding the parties engaged in discussion--understanding me and my approach to things—and most importantly understanding the lyrics of the song—snickered as Mick Jagger bellowed  out I’ll never be your Beast of Burden. They were the only ones who could rise above the tension and annoyance of a forbidden cell phone interruption and appreciate the irony and humor of the moment. It could not have been scripted any better—even by Larry David.

I no longer concern myself with ring tones. But what I and the rest of my family now concern ourselves with are our iphone cases. Our cases now define us—they let others know who we are by the patterning or texture of our protective coverings. And we are not alone. On Facebook today my friend Beth uploaded a photo of her family’s iphone cases—all five were different and representative of each’s personality.  Iphone cases are the new ringtones. They clue the world in about the person behind the handheld device.

It’s amazing how minutia becomes absurdly relevant--- even when it is not portrayed on a sitcom.