I was playing Misty Mountain Hop in my car going to work this morning. When I shut off the engine, the CD shuts off too, ready to power up in the same place it left off. Dunno how it does that, but that's what it does.
A couple of hundred yards later I heard the familiar riff of Misty Mountain Hop and started back for my car, confused. A minute later I see someone take something out of his pocket, examine it carefully and put it tentatively to his ear and say, "Hello?"
He had a Misty Mountain Top ring tone! Why? Why, FFS? What's wrong with "Brring brring!"? If it was good enough for dear old dad it's good enough for you.
Anyway, since I'm the first person ever to have a beef with a cellphone, I shall rant on:
Why does the act of answering a cellphone, particularly in a meeting, concert, film or library, always, and I mean always, take the following form?
1. A sound like a strangled cat singing "America" or "Crazy" or "Cum On Feel the Noize" issues from someone's trousers.
2. Everyone looks at the man's trousers. Thirty seconds pass. The sound continues.
3. The trouser-wearer suddenly looks down, startled, pats his pockets and draws out a small black object now singing more loudly.
4. The man looks at it in dismay and wide-eyed lack of understanding for twenty seconds, while it continues to lie in the palm of his hand screaming like a newborn.
5. The man tentatively presses a button. Nothing happens.
6. The man presses another button and puts the device to his ear. He says "Hello?" in a disbelieving voice, as though he has been handed a Magic Genie Lamp by a Zoot-Suited Fairy. The sound stops.
7. The man shouts at the top of his voice, "YOU CAN'T CALL ME HERE! I'M IN A MEETING/CONCERT/MOVIE/LIBRARY!!!!11!
8. The man gets up, knocking over his chair, stands on two small women next to him, stomps to the door and slams it shouting, "I TOLD YOU MY SSN IS 555-55-6789! AND MY MOTHER'S MAIDEN NAME IS HAREWOOD! AND DON'T GO ROUND TO MY HOUSE AT 41342 MODESKA DRIVE YET BECAUSE I HAVEN'T LEFT HERE AND MY WIFE IS THERE UNARMED. ALONE. NO, I DON'T NEED TO GO TO THE BANK BECAUSE I KEEP ALL MY SAVINGS IN SMALL BILLS UNDER THE BED!
9. The sound diminishes as he walks down the corridor.
Perhaps I exaggerate a little bit on the personal information people yell into these things, but not much.