Old school, like it’s 2004

Yesterday I experienced something horrifying. A day without my cellphone. It's such a naked, impotent feeling. The empty space in my purse, puffed out with loneliness, it's shape molded still from the missing phone.

No music player to play Andrew Bird or Calvin Marty and the Sunken Ship. No internet. No email. No facebook. No texts. No twitter.

I waited at the corner and actually watched the cars, saw the light change, did not cross the street with my head down, my thumbs active.

I stood on the el platform and looked around. People. People everywhere. Many without a phone. Without an iPod. I marveled at their electronicless wait. I thought, what do I do to entertain myself?

Then I remembered. I have a book to read. Wow.

It was like it was 2004. And I was back in NYC. Back when I didn't own an iPod, didn't have a phone with internet. Where riding the subway means, no internet or cell connection (Except inexplicitly when sitting on the 6 train in the station at Bleecker, I would randomly get cell reception)

Right. Books. I read books. I couldn't spend my train ride texting people, reading emails, twittering. Books. I happened to have a book in my purse.

Paper and words. Pretty radical, huh?

Then I remembered the horrifying and embarrassing experience of reading something emotional. That's always cool. Sitting on the brown line trying not to tear up too much reading Elizabeth Strout.

Of course, this morning, I remembered the phone. I listened to Colin Hay on my walk to the el. And read tweets and emails on the train. My book never left my purse.

Maybe on my ride home I'll kick it old school, like it's 2004 and read. Paper and words that is.