What God hath wrought: bad ring tones

We’ve probably all been sitting in class, getting our learn on, when someone’s cell phone… We’ve probably all been sitting in class, getting our learn on, when someone’s cell phone rings and a tinny rendition of “Guerilla Radio” echoes around the classroom for what seems like years. In the meantime, everyone wonders why the people who take the time to set up personalized ring tones are the same people who never recognize the sound of their phone ringing.

It’s a sort of Zen paradox; meditate on it, and a great calm will descend upon you. Then you may calmly walk over and stomp the offending cell phone into a pile of smoking transistors.

I’ll admit to not being a huge fan of the cell phone, although I do enjoy eavesdropping on cell phone conversations. Like “Seinfeld,” they always seem to be about nothing. It’s reassuring to know that people are paying to talk about things they’d never bother to speak of face-to-face. It gives me hope for the future of American business.

Oh, but the ringing. There used to be a time, around the turn of the century, when the only people who needed cell phones were drug dealers and, to a lesser extent, doctors. Ring tones were simpler then, a few beeps instantly identified those with phones. You heard them and knew you were in the presence of someone important — a drug dealer, doctor or drug dealer moonlighting as a doctor. Those were the days of “Miami Vice,” and they were good.

Soon, though, The People demanded their phones sound like a 6-year-old banging on a Casio keyboard underwater. And science, as is its way, made that dream a reality. Albert Einstein couldn’t even imagine a day when he’d be able to have “Video Killed the Radio Star” on his cell phone; now, customized ring tones are as common as the toaster oven. And as with toast, we can’t get enough of them.

Is it too much, though? I asked myself this question months ago, while watching Paris Hilton’s first video. As we all know from CNN and trustfundgirls.com, the wealthy heiress interrupts her night-vision romp to answer her cell phone. If the plain-vanilla sex video didn’t leave you cold, the ramifications of that moment should: What kind of a world do we live in where even our role models are so in love with cell phones that they stop humping — excuse me, “making love” — to take a call?

Obviously, after all this progress, we can’t rewind — we’ve gone too far. But there’s a backlash starting, and what technology giveth, it can taketh away. A recent article in The New York Times details the growing market for gadgets that render cell phones inoperable in certain locations. Casinos, symphonies, churches and schools are using them to silence those “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” ring tones. There are even portable versions that create a sphere of silence around the user.

The FCC says cell phone jammers are of questionable legality, but it’ll be interesting to see if they catch on. Imagine, the next time you’re in a crowded elevator and someone’s phone rings, pressing a switch that instantly shuts it off. Or makes it explode. Sure, there’s an element of Schadenfreude in watching the confused cell phone user fumble around, wondering what happened, but more importantly, you’re able to enjoy the blissful, awkward silence that’s unique to elevator rides.

You might counter that, while some people can’t wrap their heads around the idea of vibrate mode, that doesn’t make it fair to punish legitimate users. There will always be rude people, and no amount of education or selective breeding will fix that.

That kind of stoicism might be admirable in third world countries, where they have to tolerate annoying ring tones, but American ingenuity has proven that the solution to the inconveniences of technology is always more technology. As Swiss writer Max Frisch put it, “Technology is the knack of so arranging the world so that we don’t have to experience it.” And I shouldn’t have to experience a world of shrill, cell phone covers of “Tiny Dancer.”

Jesse Hicks will be taking his dog and baby to Frick Park this weekend to chase girls and work on his stereotypical bad-boy image. If you’d like your car fixed and your heart broken, e-mail jhicks@pittnews.com.