A Pilgrim’s Digression

After getting on the bus, I took my book from my bag and began to read; but soon I found something much more interesting to observe. A man and woman boarded the bus, actively having a conversation–or at least it appeared they were having a conversation.

It soon became clear that the conversation was pretty one-sided, with the man doing most of the talking. The woman listens attentively, nods, gives him an “um-hum” occasionally. The two of them sit down across from me. Both are professionally dressed, the woman in a cream and beige skirt/blouse/jacket combo, brown handbag. She’s younger than the man, probably in her thirties. She’s wearing tennis shoes, her work shoes in her handbag, presumably.

The man is middle-aged, dressed in a navy blue suit, French blue shirt, and burgundy tie. His starched cuffs protrude just right from his jacket sleeves as he sits. He carries a black, soft leather briefcase which he placed on the floor between his legs. He also placed his umbrella between his legs, leaning it on one knee and holding it loosely by it’s knobby top with his left hand. His hair is brown with gray flecks; his face is unwrinkled, self-assured; he is handsome enough to be a politician. The woman is quite pretty too, but not striking.

Middle-aged men are so often far from striking that when you see one that is handsome, with good hair, but without a belly, without varicosed legs and a three day growth of beard, he really stands out.

The man was talking about his job at the DOJ, explaining the legal aspects of the legislative process, dropping names left and right. Harry, Tom, Judy, Dick…except for the names, which became like a guessing game for me (“Barbara…is that Boxer or Mulkulski?”) I couldn’t follow the particulars of his conversation. He didn’t sound completely pompous, just confident that the woman must be as interested as himself in his very important work.

Then I heard something, and if I heard it right, it was the mating call of the Man in the Navy Blue Suit. I saw the ritualistic dance, too. He wanted her to know he was a significant person in government, as well as a person of wealth and means. He made a reference to his car, a Mercedes which he needed to get serviced this weekend. And maybe he was thinking of getting something else serviced, too. He rubbed the knob of his umbrella almost rhythmically as he talked.

Did I mention there was a wedding band on his finger?

He was like a male peacock displaying his feathers. And then he made his overture to the female. She had been listening attentively, and now she had to get off. As she stood up, he said, “Here, here’s my business card. Call me or email any time.” She took the card, said “Thank you,” and got off.

As the bus pulled away, the man’s smile faded, feathers drooped. He coughed. His hand slowed it’s stroking of the umbrella handle and then finally came to rest. It was an odd display, that last bit with the business card. Maybe he sensed it was a little off beat, maybe just a little. Maybe just enough.

It’s been a long time since I’ve witnessed the dance first hand, and the dance at 20 is different than the dance at 50. I won’t even begin to make a comparison across the age spectrum, because I never learned the dance to begin with. It didn’t necessarily hold me back, though. I found a good mate anyway who accepted me despite my lack of social skills.

But you can tell when someone is attracted to someone else. It’s always fascinating to see how they disguise it while at the same time, showcasing it. I think the business card was meant to be a final display of confidence. He was following the bad advice of so-called alpha males (otherwise known as jerks) the world over: be the flame, not the moth. Let her chase you. Let her make the phone calls. Call her back…or let her hang a day or two and then call her back.

Somehow I got the impression he’d stumbled there on the last step of the dance, though. Maybe the whole dance was a lost cause from the beginning, though the woman did seem interested in him. Women are inscrutable to men, though. We never know what they really think…unless they tell us, in which case we sometimes rather wish we didn’t know after all.

This was just a short scene I noticed today, subject to my interpretation and maybe even misinterpretation. There is a whole story behind it, however, if some novelist wanted to flesh out the structure. Why was he making this move on this woman who, apparently, was a complete stranger? Or had she perhaps instigated the conversation? Did they work together, passing in the hallway day after day until finally they spoke a few words? What was their private lives like?

All I can say is, there’s a story for a better story-teller than me.

If Andy Warhol were alive today, I have no doubt he’d be an avid social networker. I also believe he’d revise his famous dictum, lowering the estimate from 15 minutes to 15 seconds. Or about the time it takes to write a 140 word Tweet, lose interest, and move on to the next fad.

A Slate article on people who post once to Twitter, then are never heard from again, confers something like poetic status on these brief outbursts into the void of time and space. One can imagine some intrepid graduate student in English literature collecting and publishing them in a book of anonymous “Twoetry,” as a way of paying for the health insurance his University refuses to provide its serfs.

Reading this article about Twitter reminded me of another I read yesterday, Can Once-Cool MySpace Stage a Comeback. I never knew MySpace was imperiled, but apparently its position in the online universe of social networking has been usurped by Facebook.

It wouldn’t surprise me if next year, Facebook is the topic of an article about a decline in users due to new competition from [insert catchy web application name her].

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I did a stupid thing this weekend. So stupid, I feel embarrassed admitting it.

I left my cellphone in my pants pocket and it went into the washer. It came out pristinely clean and completely destroyed. It wasn’t an expensive phone–it’s the LG enV2 model from Verizon–but since we only have cellphones in our household, no land line, accidentally destroying a cell phone does present some unique challenges.

After debating my options, including whether I could get a new phone by the time I left for Washington last night, I called a friend to whom I’d loaned an old phone of mine and asked for its return. Fortunately, she still had it, and it was not in use.

So after getting this old phone from her, and sighing at how large and clunky it looks after only a few years, I called up Verizon to activate it. Afterwards, I gave the phone to Lynn to talk to the representative about ordering a new one. She gets a kick out of wheeling and dealing with these people to get the best deal she can. I’m not particular about the kind of phone I use, so I’d rather just let her order the phone for me.

The point of this post is that, at one point in the conversation, I heard her ask about the iPhone. Previously I’d mentioned to her this rumor from back in April that Apple and Verizon are in talks over the iPhone, so she knew I wanted one, as long as I don’t have to switch providers. After Lynn got off the phone, I asked her what the rep told her.

He said that although they aren’t supposed to say anything about it, Verizon is getting the iPhone in 2010, once Apple’s contract with AT&T expires. He also said the phone would be red.  My wife told him “Thank you, we’ll just use this old phone until then,” and so he lost a sale.

Do I believe him about the iPhone? On the one hand, it makes no sense for him to lie to people who want the iPhone, since it makes them less likely to buy a phone now.

On the other hand, he’s just a sales rep. What does he know? Probably nothing. Why would Verizon tell its low-level employees a secret so big it would literally make national headlines, if word leaked out?

Still, I want to believe.

Ever since the iPhone debuted, I’ve grumbled about Apple’s exclusive relationhip with AT&T which (from my perspective) makes no sense. Verizon is the largest carrier in the United States. But even if it weren’t the largest, shouldn’t Apple want their product available to as many people as possible? In my opinion, every cell phone company ought to be able to provide the iPhone to their customers, if they want it. I realize business doesn’t often make that much sense, however. Companies sign contracts with each other and have to honor them, for better or worse.

Maybe at the time the AT&T contract was the best Apple could get. It wouldn’t surprise me if they are trying to do better, now. Maybe the whole Apple/Verizon rumor is just a leveraging tactic meant to get a better deal from AT&T, however.

All I know is, having bought an iPod Touch recently, I’ve been given a taste of what the iPhone can do. I want one. I want one very, very much.

Yes, I play a video game as a hobby.  Some would say World of Warcraft is a lifestyle choice, not a hobby, since it consumes so much of its players time and lives.  But I still call it a hobby, like playing golf with one’s buddies on a Saturday afternoon…er, playing golf four or five hours a night, five days a week plus weekends.

I am often ashamed to admit to my lifestyle in mixed company.  Saying that one’s hobby is a video game is often, to another man, a signal that he can feel superior to you.  It allows him to say that in his free time he goes to the gym/plays a game of football with his friends/rides a bicycle/runs a marathon/makes love to multiple women at the same time.  Or just watches sports on TV.  Yes, even watching sports on TV trumps video games in manly culture.

Never mind that in his man cave, you will probably find an XBox and a Rockband setup, which he uses to jam to “More than a Feeling” when he’s feeling special.

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