We need to discuss two articles from the Thursday Styles section of the New York Times. First, there's this article about personal trainers getting too personal, coincidentally titled "When a Personal Trainer Gets Too Personal." I didn't technically read the article, but I was watching the trainers at the gym flirt with sweaty girls in tight clothes, so now I consider myself an expert on the subject. I've gotta admit that I have very little patience with attractive people — which is a theme you may have noticed running through my blog — especially when they're complaining about how hard the pulchitrudinous lifestyle is. Because honestly, that's why you drag your hot, hot ass out of bed in the morning and go to the gym: so that people of the appropriate gender will want to fuck you. It's not like it's their fault you're all picky about who touches you where.

The second article we've got to talk about is "Reach Out and Touch No One," about a recent trend of "cellphonies" yammering away on their cell phones in public places even though there's nobody on the other end of the line. Thank God! Finally, a line of pathetic behavior I haven't crossed.

The sociologists record the cell phone as a bizarre communications tool when we use or abuse it in public; we simultaneously communicate with someone distant on the other end and with the poor folks around us who have to listen to our inane conversation. I've pulled this trick before: everybody around's having a good time together and I'm feeling left out, I whip out the cell phone and call Anne, suddenly I'm having a blast with the rest of the crowd. Or at least I look like I am, which is three-quarters the battle. I've got my clique too, I'm saying, they're just not here right now.

I've even considered being a bit more direct with my cell phone. I was on the train the other day, for instance, and it was way before rush hour so the train was practically empty. And out of nowhere, this tubby, greasy, smelly guy sat down next to me, even though there were at least fifty other empty seats near no one. What is up with this? Why is it that only those unable to groom themselves have no need for personal space? I was thinking of calling somebody and telling them what was happening in real time: "You wouldn't believe this, the train is pretty much empty and this tub of lard has to sit down right next to me! And he smells, too. Yeah, like he just pissed himself." After which one of us would be so mortified we'd have to switch seats.

I can't wait till people start combining the talking to the ether on the cell phone trend with the wireless headset trend. And you thought it was tough now telling the crazy folks from the people who just need to look important.