Honey, we can all hear you now

Too much information.

The annoying cell phone yakkers used to be confined to their cars, but now they're roaming through Wal-Marts and Waffle Houses everywhere, treating the rest of us to an unrequested earful of information about their private lives.

They can't bear to pause their conversation at Starbucks, so the counter clerk has to decipher their order wedged in between meddling advice to their neighbor.

"Marge, if you don't get little Carter in now - I'll have a grande decaf nonfat latte - the Future Neurosurgeons of America Club won't let any more 4-year-olds in."

They troll the aisles at Target, loudly recounting the lurid details of their sister-in-law's hysterectomy as they paw through the clearance toilet-seat covers.

And if you want to know how the average corporate flunky feels about their job, just go to the airport and stand next to somebody with one of those little blue neon contraptions in their ear.

One click of a button and they assume that they're surrounded by an invisible soundproof shield that somehow prevents the person standing two feet away from hearing their tirade against that nutty Sheila in accounting.

I'd tell them off, but I'm the woman in the middle of the food court with a headset perched in her ear, gesturing wildly into the atmosphere as she tries to coach her husband through the proper car pool pickup procedure. "NO! NO! NO! The right side is for drop-off, the left is for pick-up."

In defense of my annoying behavior, all I can say is, I'm a busy woman, and if God had wanted me to confine my conversations to my home, she wouldn't have sprinkled the earth with cell towers.

Several readers have e-mailed me recently wondering why, in my many commentaries about the annoying behavior of humans, I've never gone after the intrusive cell phone chatters. Well, now the truth is out: I can't call them on the carpet because I'm one of the worst offenders of the lot. It would be treasonous to go after my own kind.

I used to worry that I'd wind up dead by the side of the road with a mascara wand sticking out of my eyeball because I put on makeup while I drove. But now I'm envisioning the nightly news reporting on a woman seen careening off the overpass and plummeting to her death while clutching a cell phone. Bystanders at the scene say her last words were, "Can you hear me now?"

Yet aside from the obvious dangers, there are a few more insidious problems with all this constant talk time.

First and foremost, it's hard to be fully present for your life when you've got a cell phone permanently glued to your ear. I shudder at the thought of how many times I've missed the chance to talk with my kids during quiet car time because I was busily upping my productivity by cranking out calls on my cell. Looking at all the other lunatics yakking into their windshields at traffic lights, I'm guessing I'm not the only one who reaches for the phone the second she puts her car in gear.

But even worse than missing important moments, constant cell phone use keeps your brain in permanent "on" mode.

Like any good piece of equipment, the mind needs rest and quiet to recharge. If we insist on yakking during every waking moment, the little gears inside our brain are going to eventually explode.

I may be the queen of multitasking, but when your hairdresser has to wrench the phone from your hand to keep you from getting electrocuted while you're submerged in the shampoo sink, it's probably time to give it a rest.

So give your mouth and your mind a break. Take a deep breath, put your phone on vibrate and enjoy the world around you.

I promise I won't call.

Lisa Earle McLeod is a syndicated newspaper columnist and the author of Forget Perfect. (Penguin/Putnam) www.ForgetPerfect.com