- Location
- Retired in Minneapolis
Are paper phone books a waste of trees?
Since many aren't delivered they're showing up as swelling blobs of paper in parking lot corners. Last week when I went to the city recycling depot I saw a good size mound of this years in the dumpster...delivered straight back to the mill at least. I do have a version of yellow pages lite in the Buzzmoblie though. Didn't use it once last year though, maybe this year. GPS or my wireless INternet connection finds most anything that I need.
Paper slabs of nostalgia, delivered to your door
JAMES LILEKS, Star Tribune
This was the week the phone books came out: 967 pounds of unrequested pulp. I know some people still use the phone book, and don't like dialing up AOL and e-mailing that Craig fellow with the list, or whatever kids do today.
I understand. If you want one, you should have one. But for some, having a human being physically schlep the ginormous phone book to your door is like having someone show up at your house with a slab of ice over his shoulder. Hello, I'm from the previous century. Need anything? No. Well, could I print off the Internet for you? No.
A few weeks ago my wife's office had a phone-book recycling program, and out they went: I felt liberated. Two days ago we got a new one. And by "one" I mean four.
1. The white pages. Basic plot: the Anderson Army vs. the Consonant People! 2. The Yellow pages, with their helpful categories (Dentists: by city: by jaw: by tooth) 3. The smaller, shrunken version of both. It's the Reader's Digest edition. Did they winnow out the dull people who have nothing to say? Does it contain 50 percent fewer Johnsons? Did they take out the doctors who specialize in rare diseases? 4. The personal portable edition. I'm advised to keep this one in my car or my briefcase. Because many's the day I'm rolling down the road in Maplewood and wonder if there's a Pizza Hut in Richfield.
The old phone books had a different character. They used to list people's names, marital status and occupations, the last detail described with abbreviations sucked dry of helpful vowels. JONES Laverne, sngl, 35, bkkpr. HALVERSON Ole, mrrd, 56, drftsmn. SVENSON John, wdwr, 101, ld frt. They gave addresses and apartment numbers. No one would put up with that today, but they did give a sense of a place, a community; you could imagine HENDERSON Mary, sngl, 35, wtrss, 718 4th st. SE Apt. 4, soaking her feet in an upstairs University-area apartment after a long day slinging hash at Peter's Grill. It was a stalker's dream, in other words.
So what about the new books? Same crisp style as last year's? They're often faulted for being heavy on characters and low on plot, and this year's books are no exception.
You always want to check to see who won the annual First Listing competition in the business pages, because that seems terribly important to some companies. In order to appear in the first few pages they come up with names that sound like someone gagging on a tongue depressor: AAA-AA-AAA-Aardvark A-1 Appendectomies (About to burst? Call us first!) This year's first listing:
A.
There's also AAAA, which would be good if you're running a professional Fonzie impersonator bureau.
For years the last number in Minneapolis belonged to the Zzyzzerific FunLine, which I called one night out of curiosity. You got a long tape-recorded description of a week in the life of a blind man, recited in a high happy voice. Turns out the line belonged to a fellow named Joybubbles -- his legal name -- and he was a famous phone phreaker from the '70s, able to whistle the tones that routed calls.
The New York Times ran his obit last summer. Every year I look at the phone book and remember his rambling tales of Valleyfair. It does make one nostalgic for the phone book; it'll be different when the phone books finally go away. There's no last name on the Internet.
The day after the phone books arrived, I found another batch dumped by the side door. They were delivered in the rain, so each book had absorbed six gallons of water. Now we had eight books.
In a few days the competing phone book will show up, the one that has no possible reason for existing except to make you weep for the acres of trees felled for no reason, and that will make 10. I'll have three copies of the White Pages. Maybe they're different. Maybe it's a trilogy.
I'll wait for the movie.
Since many aren't delivered they're showing up as swelling blobs of paper in parking lot corners. Last week when I went to the city recycling depot I saw a good size mound of this years in the dumpster...delivered straight back to the mill at least. I do have a version of yellow pages lite in the Buzzmoblie though. Didn't use it once last year though, maybe this year. GPS or my wireless INternet connection finds most anything that I need.
Paper slabs of nostalgia, delivered to your door
JAMES LILEKS, Star Tribune
This was the week the phone books came out: 967 pounds of unrequested pulp. I know some people still use the phone book, and don't like dialing up AOL and e-mailing that Craig fellow with the list, or whatever kids do today.
I understand. If you want one, you should have one. But for some, having a human being physically schlep the ginormous phone book to your door is like having someone show up at your house with a slab of ice over his shoulder. Hello, I'm from the previous century. Need anything? No. Well, could I print off the Internet for you? No.
A few weeks ago my wife's office had a phone-book recycling program, and out they went: I felt liberated. Two days ago we got a new one. And by "one" I mean four.
1. The white pages. Basic plot: the Anderson Army vs. the Consonant People! 2. The Yellow pages, with their helpful categories (Dentists: by city: by jaw: by tooth) 3. The smaller, shrunken version of both. It's the Reader's Digest edition. Did they winnow out the dull people who have nothing to say? Does it contain 50 percent fewer Johnsons? Did they take out the doctors who specialize in rare diseases? 4. The personal portable edition. I'm advised to keep this one in my car or my briefcase. Because many's the day I'm rolling down the road in Maplewood and wonder if there's a Pizza Hut in Richfield.
The old phone books had a different character. They used to list people's names, marital status and occupations, the last detail described with abbreviations sucked dry of helpful vowels. JONES Laverne, sngl, 35, bkkpr. HALVERSON Ole, mrrd, 56, drftsmn. SVENSON John, wdwr, 101, ld frt. They gave addresses and apartment numbers. No one would put up with that today, but they did give a sense of a place, a community; you could imagine HENDERSON Mary, sngl, 35, wtrss, 718 4th st. SE Apt. 4, soaking her feet in an upstairs University-area apartment after a long day slinging hash at Peter's Grill. It was a stalker's dream, in other words.
So what about the new books? Same crisp style as last year's? They're often faulted for being heavy on characters and low on plot, and this year's books are no exception.
You always want to check to see who won the annual First Listing competition in the business pages, because that seems terribly important to some companies. In order to appear in the first few pages they come up with names that sound like someone gagging on a tongue depressor: AAA-AA-AAA-Aardvark A-1 Appendectomies (About to burst? Call us first!) This year's first listing:
A.
There's also AAAA, which would be good if you're running a professional Fonzie impersonator bureau.
For years the last number in Minneapolis belonged to the Zzyzzerific FunLine, which I called one night out of curiosity. You got a long tape-recorded description of a week in the life of a blind man, recited in a high happy voice. Turns out the line belonged to a fellow named Joybubbles -- his legal name -- and he was a famous phone phreaker from the '70s, able to whistle the tones that routed calls.
The New York Times ran his obit last summer. Every year I look at the phone book and remember his rambling tales of Valleyfair. It does make one nostalgic for the phone book; it'll be different when the phone books finally go away. There's no last name on the Internet.
The day after the phone books arrived, I found another batch dumped by the side door. They were delivered in the rain, so each book had absorbed six gallons of water. Now we had eight books.
In a few days the competing phone book will show up, the one that has no possible reason for existing except to make you weep for the acres of trees felled for no reason, and that will make 10. I'll have three copies of the White Pages. Maybe they're different. Maybe it's a trilogy.
I'll wait for the movie.
