The Cone of Amplification

When I was young (oh so many decades ago), one of my favorite television programs was the Mel Brooks/Buck Henry spy spoof “Get Smart.” It was the perfect set-up of the James Bondian spy stories — multiple gadgets, secret agents with special abilities, beautiful women (Agent 99 was one of my first crushes), and an evil empire trying to take over the world.

I bring this up, not because I was in a particularly reminiscent mood, but because I was reminded today of one of my favorite running gags on the show — The Cone of Silence.  For those of you who have never seen the show, this was a lucite device that would lower over the Chief and Max whenever they needed to have a top-secret conversation.  The gag was that it impeded conversation even between them.  Silence was the operative word and it succeeded in silencing both of them, even to each other.

As I was walking today with my wife down a lovely hiking path through a natural wonderland, tucked within a canyon in the middle of town; it occurred to me that the newest trend has become the polar opposite of the Cone of Silence.  I will call it “The Cone of Amplification.”  You may know it better as “the cell phone.”

The cell phone, while a very useful device that I am as connected to as anyone, has somehow ushered in the death of privacy.  On our walk, I passed multitudes speaking on their cells (usually in speaker mode) in a volubility well exceeding normal conversational decibels with no regard to the content of their dialogue.

Subjects that would normally never be shared with friends and family, let alone strangers walking past on a public trail have become open fodder for general knowledge.  

I submit to you, dear reader, some of the information I picked up on today’s hour-long walk through nature:

• Apparently, one young woman instructed someone (I hope and pray it was an intimate relation) that she should be called “a dirty whore” because she “loves that.”
• Philip’s poodle is on her third day of explosive diarrhea.
• Thomas has expanded his bra collection to include an impressive G cup.
• Samantha doesn’t care anymore.  She “just doesn’t give a shit.”
• Jim’s grandma is “still hangin’ in there,” even though she apparently “can’t tell the difference between a toilet and the passenger seat of Jim’s car.”
• Claribel said something in Spanish that I believe meant that her aging purse was sandy.  (I took years of Spanish in my youth, but I just might be a little rusty.  Next outing, I’m taking a translator with me.)

and, definitely the most ironic:

• Patty still hasn’t caught on to the ongoing affair that the decidedly out of shape jogger has been continuing with Jessica; even though at least 13 fellow exercise buffs are now fully aware of the details.  Obviously, Patty should hang out on the path more often.

Here’s the point:

I, very much like Samantha (see bullet #4), really don’t care about these people’s lives.  I don’t need the details; I don’t even need the rough drafts.  What I would like is an explanation of the technical miracle built into the common smartphone that creates a bubble of suggested privacy around the speaker.

Does this device actually erase the visual perception of other humans passing by the user?  Does it project a three dimensional image of a realistically detailed deserted wasteland uninhabited by other living beings?  Or does it simply fry that part of the brain that controls impulse, shame and propriety?

Honestly, I think the Cone of Amplification doesn’t only amplify the voice of the speaker; I think it very effectively amplifies the level of stupid in our society.