Malignant cells

AUBURN, Maine - My wife and I were waiting patiently at a clinic in a hospital. We brought our books (Kindles, E-Readers and iBooks are dirty words in our house) because we are patrons of the printed word.

We believe in being quite in close quarters, and when I speak with my wife in the next seat, we whisper out of respect for patients who also sit in silence.

I was reading about the origins of the Boston Red Sox, giving me the perfect excuse to ignore a TV daytime talk show host's interview with another narcissistic celebrity. We were engrossed in our reading when this annoying voice erupted and disrupted our concentration, making me lose my place in the book.

The volume grew as this impolite person let the entire room in on her cell phone conversation, which went on for nearly 15 minutes. What about leaving the room? How about: "I can't talk now" or "I will call you back." Something short and sweet, giving the rest of us a break from your nonsense.

I am not a nosey person. We are a "please and thank you" family who respects the privacy of others. I didn't need to know her business. I thought about politely telling our babbling roomy to be quiet, reaching for a can of Mace or requesting a bucket of water to drown out the conversation and destroy the phone - sort of a two-for-one deal.

There is no escaping these annoying, self-centered cell phone users whose ranks grow each day. All you need to do to join them is to be rude and become oblivious to your fellow man.

I understand we move in a world of instant communication and cell phones can be handy in emergencies and checking on our children.

Still, I can't count the number of times when a distracted driver, with a cell phone in one hand and the wheel of a two-ton SUV in the other, nearly knocking me off the road. When I use a horn to express my dismay, these inattentive drivers certainly don't mind telling me I am No. 1 with the usual hand sign that often triggers road rage. 

I have been privy to numerous cell phone conversations in a grocery market. I learned about Uncle George doing a 5-to-10 stint at Folsom State Prison for knocking over a bank while I tossed coffee into my carriage. I witnessed customers talking on the phone as they slowly reach for their wallet to pay the bill at the register. I watch in horror as a driver texts at 60 miles per hour with a car full of children. I can't believe people have a phone to their ear at the beach, on a hike or walking down the street.

Shut the damn thing off, will you please!

I don't know how to text and I don't want to learn because I hate looking down on the world. I welcome face-to-face conversations with my next-door neighbors. I was raised on a street where 17 of my relatives lived. Hot nights were spent on porches discussing the Vietnam war or the weather.

And I don't want a phone call in the car when Eric Clapton's "I feel free" is playing on the radio.

I snicker when people confess that they couldn't survive without a cell phone. We went without a mobile phone for four years and somehow we made it through the rain and kept our point of view.

Last summer, I went overboard and purchased a $10 TracPhone and spent another $20 for 60 minutes, which lasted four months.

The extent of my conversations usually goes like this:

"Hello?' I answer.

"Hi Tony, we need milk," said my wife.

"OK, I will pick up a gallon on the way home. Love ya, bye," I say.

I am off the phone in less than a minute. Besides, what could I possibly add to that conversation.

And I didn't annoy a soul during that brief call.

Border-ing on insanity

They are closing the book on Borders.

It is not a happy chapter for employees or a book lover like myself who enjoyed the company's vast selection of publications, music and dependable customer service.

Borders' smorgasbord of fine coffee and food was worth spending a few bucks, too. And if a Borders' customer specialist couldn't help you find a book or CD on the shelf, they would order the item online.

For this family of three — all voracious readers — Borders was worth the excursion to hang out at its Brunswick and South Portland stores. We made a day of it and it gave us an excuse to nurse a strong cup of coffee while my son perused books, and there was always the $5-and $10-pile of discounted kids and cook books. 

We often met kind, well-read people who ignored their laptops, IPods and television sets for an afternoon of browsing through hardcovers and paperbacks. We talked face to face with other book lovers instead of communicating online or sending mundane text messages filled with misspellings and acronyms.    

Borders was paradise for a library lover like myself. I know Borders was wired for the Internet, allowing college students to commandeer cafe seats and sip coffee for hours in front of their personal computers.

No thanks! I was there for a good book. 

Sitting in front of a damn computer screen to check out Facebook or view another useless video on YouTube at Borders was a straight waste of my time. Who cares what's going on across the Net. I was surrounded by books of literature, science and history. My phone was off. I was enjoying Borders' library-like atmosphere, thinking about my next muffin, and debating which history book I should read.

At home, technology takes a back seat to a great book. Our cable TV provides only 12 channels (there really is nothing on), there are no video games, and our cell phone costs $10 with no contract. We own a Mac and I love this bucket of bolts, but it is not a book. I don't need to be multi-tasking or checking my email every minute of my short life.

If you want to reach me, call or even better — write me a letter and I will include you in my will.

You see, Borders had it all — just like Bogie and Bacall in "Key Largo."

So what the hell happened here!

I realize there are a handful of reasons why Borders will go dark. There's the Internet, e-book readers (a real waste of money), computer notebooks, and people who appear more uninformed and find reading a book a chore. There are so many high-tech distractions that it has made it impossiblefor all of us — especially members of the point-and-click generation — to concentrate on devouring a hardcover.

My mother believed every household should be littered with books, newspapers and magazines. She knew there was pertinent knowledge tucked away in all those pages of type. She lived long enough to witness high technology take a foothold in our daily lives, and she lamented when newspapers put their stories on line. I marched right in step with her keen observations. She marveled at a book's clever jacket cover and its strong binding. She thought the Internet was a quick fix and lacked depth, and boy do I agree with her.

Books give you a handle on the Cuban missile crisis or the decisive Union victory at Gettysburg. When I read a book about a certain event or period of history, I know a writer has done his homework and put a lot of blood, sweat and tears into his work. To understand these moments in history takes more than a visit to Wikipedia or some obscure web site.

That's where Borders came in and sold great, big books chronicling great, big events in our brief lives.

I know you are reading this blog via the Net and wondering what the hell is this hypocrite talking about when it comes to the demise of Borders. Well, I write and edit for a newspaper. It is a real, honest to goodness broadsheet. I enjoy holding a newspaper and a book. I like the feel of these literary works in my hand and their portability.

And that is why I refuse to read everything on line or my eyes would bleed.

I will miss Borders and those Sunday afternoons chasing after my son, who often found himself lost in isles of books and magazines. 

I will miss the coffee, too.

For those of you who view my stuff on line, I thank you

Now you can go back to that literary work you were reading, but that book will no longer be available at Borders — and that is a travesty for book lovers who cherish the printed word — and good coffee.