It was a quiet, still Saturday morning in the Superstition Mountains just east of Phoenix. My friend and I hiked along the Peralta Trail enjoying the view of the craggy peaks rising like jagged teeth from the valley floor.
It was a great day -- cool, serene, and calm -- until we came upon another group of hikers and heard the notes of "Fuer Elise" clanging loudly from a young woman's pocket.
Cellular technology has a stranglehold on our society. We have taken to walking through life with great metal warts permanently affixed to our faces, unable to live without being constantly in touch and reachable; relaying the mundane details of daily life to every other person we know.
The convenience and usefulness of cell phones is immeasurable, yes. But there is some value to being alone, a value that is quickly being lost in the crazed obsession with keeping in contact.
Before cell phones, a family could go out to eat and wouldn't worry about the people who called while they were out. No more. I work in a restaurant, and I have seen people spend virtually the entire meal on their various phones.
Like children playing with their favorite new toys on Christmas morning, we are infatuated with cellular technology. There is no denying the positives -- emergency help, being able to reach clients, etc. -- but shouldn't we question this fanatical need to immediately transmit every inane piece of information in our lives to every person on our phone list, to the point that we ignore people actually in our presence?
The age of the dog is over. Man has a new best friend. On two separate occasions in the past week, while on an evening run around my neighborhood, I have seen people walking their dogs while carrying on loud, animated cell conversations.
At the Student Recreation Complex, countless students and faculty sit on exercise bikes while talking boisterously to whomever about last night's "Friends" episode. Stores, gyms, restaurants, cafes, restrooms -- nowhere is free from cellular onslaught.
Even the wilderness is no longer sacred. People ostensibly camp, hike, backpack, climb or canoe to be free from the complex entanglements of society and to "get away from it all."
But now, instead of actually getting away, we just transplant our frivolous conversations to a wild locale, never really disconnecting from any of the things we claim to be escaping. Climbers can even make calls from the summit of Everest.
It's absurd. It's an addiction. And it's a little sad. Have we so little to think about that we can't spend a few days, or even a few hours, alone with ourselves? Have we become so dependent on phones that real face-to-face interaction is secondary?
There is absolutely no problem with cell phones, but rather with our dependence on them. We see something funny, or interesting, or ridiculous and instead of chuckling to ourselves, we must call and tell everyone right away. We go shopping and discuss every purchase with a long-distance "consultant."
The explosion of cell phones is a relatively new thing, yet most people I know would readily give up a limb before losing their phones. We are becoming increasingly incapable of being alone, physically unable to go on vacation or even use the toilet without our phones.
This insanity has to stop. We have the power to grasp the tiny monsters, wrench them from their death grip on the cheeks of America, and gently and reassuringly let them know that we need to spend some time apart. Try it. Focus on the tangible present for just a few moments. It may prove more enjoyable than we all think.
Katie Kelberlau does not own a cell phone. She does have an e-mail address; it's katherine.kelberlau@asu.edu.
