Actually, I'm writing this while waiting in a Montana Ave Starbucks for my little sister, who's visiting from Kauii, to finish Yoga. There's some frizzy-haired, aging hippie with money here...a woman...bellowing into her cell. Naturally, I said something to her: "Do you mind keeping it down?" "Oh, yeah..." she responded, the thought never occurring to her that there might be other people in the world who aren't interested in hearing the shouts of her dull business. (There are about four people here, all of whom are reading -- or were trying to until she came in) Anyway, she went out to talk to ?her husband? and when she came back in, I laughed when I saw her shirt (and not because she never stopped going braless): "imagine peace" her shirt reads. Yeah, imagining it is the best we can all do while you're here, lady.

Again, another fascinating Montana Ave conversation from another hippie idiot (brown hair, shirt with Indian goddess figure on it…ugly red leather flat mary janes with rubber soles [can you really get away with those after age 12? I say no!] maroon socks…black stretch pants):

"She needs to practice, she really needs to practice, it’s exposure, it’s constant exposure. If you hear about this…Oh that would be good. Yeah, because I’d like her to start speaking the…?prayer?…if she could sing…nice! Okay! Excellent! Thank you so much, Cathy!"

Fascinating, huh? Shouldn't this woman be paying me to listen to this crap?

Try sitting in a PTA meeting with about fifty such conversations going on at once.

It's so depressing. If the only sense of self-worth one gets is the imagined envy of nonexistent eavesdroppers during one's fake cellphone conversations, then it's probably not going to be a very happy life. Poor guy. Then again, I guess it's not much different than blogging.

Amy, I'm sure it's your influence that's made me even more prone to disciplining other people's children lately. In Old Navy, I felt compelled to tell some parents' whose little boy was throwing a large, hard basketball all over the store that he was going to hurt someone. They looked quite perplexed. I'm afraid I'm turning rather cranky!

Oh, cranky is in, as far as I'm concerned!...it might lead to better manners -- or, at least, fewer socially untoward annoyances. At this very same Starbucks, a woman let her ?3-year-old? girl sit on the floor and throw a mini-tantrum. Then she looked at me like I was Satan's step-sister for looking over in astonishment. Hey, lady: shut your child up and I'll undrop my jaw.

The other thing that gets me is the "no cell phones" sign -- the need for it, I mean. After all, there's no sign that says, "Please don't take a big dump in the middle of the café," yet most people manage to figure that one out for themselves.

My jaw drops, Amy. Two years ago I had an ephiphany - I really don't like people. And I even admitted it to my hubby and my close friends. Then hubby gives me the URL to your blog entry! We are sisters.
When I was in high school (1970's) I used to drive to our local A&W rootbeer stand with an old second-hand dial phone on the front seat next to me. The A&W is a drive-in. Sitting in my yellow VW bug, downing my rootbeer, I'd be pretending to have animated discussions with someone on my old telephone. Somehow my teenaged brain thought that someone would think I was cool and connected doing this. Well, as a teenager I didn't have a life and was in desperate need of some self-esteem. The ol' ego sure does come up with some bizarre ways of getting recognition. And that's another really good reason for not liking people - they're always doing stupid and/or hurtful things to get their ego-strokes.)

I get pissed when idiots are in the gym locker room talking on cell phones. There are signs everywhere saying no cell phones in the locker room. But people don't care. I tell them hey see that sign it says no cell phones. They don't care.

Frickin egomaniacs.

> don't mistake me for more cruel
> than I actually am...

Just cruel enough.

Let's hear more about the sister, particularly her voting, travel and adornment habits

Paul wrote: "Then again, I guess it's not much different than blogging." Oh but yes it is. A blog, though public, is not broadcast. A blog is something you willingly tune in to because for some reason (sick or no) it interests you. Noise pollution from cell phone users is so VERY non-voluntary.

I love it when you make a comment and the obnoxious cell-phoner says "This is a private conversation!"

Um...no it isn't.

/doesn't have a cell phone

At what point are you going to stop going to Starbucks, Amy? It seems to bring you nothing but misery.

No wonder people think people in LA are a bit crazy... maybe they really are... talking to her dog?

You might get a kick out of this posting about my rude neighbors from a few weeks ago:
http://snipurl.com/e6og

I think the "no cell phones" rule in the locker room is there because so many people have camera phones. That's actually one of the few places I wouldn't care about people talking on the phone. It's not like you're there to just hang out. Hopefully.

Well, the problem is, the people making the most noise generally seem to be those with the least to say.

Y'all be sure to see this Chris Caldwell piece in Sunday's NYT magazine.

Here's a theory: Courteous deportment and a masculine, stoic approach to discipline are intimately connected. The decay of the former is everywhere bemoaned, but no tears are shed for the latter.

So, good luck in Starbucks!

I started smoking when I was about 11 years old. I am now 75 years of age, still working full time, and look, according to most observers, at least 10-15 years younger than my actual age