Rick Nelson and Claude Peck dispense unasked-for advice about clothing, etiquette, culture, relationships, grooming and more.

CP: Since you got that fancy new smartphone two months ago, you have texted me more than 200 times, but you have not phoned me once.

RN: Didn't you get the memo? Phone calls are so 2009.

CP: And here I thought you were tired of my late-night telephonic word salads.

RN: Tire of you? Never. Jamais.

CP: I can practically see you yawning and eyeing the clock as I go on about this and that matter of the utmost import.

RN: It's been that obvious? I try to remember a sign that once hung on the wall of a former workplace, where we spent our days on the phone, yammering with customers. It said something sickening like, "Can they hear your smile?"

CP: It does seem like we all have smarter, pricier phones even as we do less actual gabbing. The iPhone is almost useless as a conversational tool. It breaks up more frequently than Liz Taylor's marriages, may she rest in peace.

RN: I barely know how to use my EVO to actually talk, and if anyone expects me to retrieve a voice-mail message, think again. Who has the time? But my words-per-minute texting skills very nearly rival my keyboard speed.

CP: I like to text a little as a warmup to an actual phone call. And then have a cigarette afterward.

RN: I'm finding, in today's instantaneous world, that banging out a 140-character tweet on Twitter is becoming long-winded.

CP: Look, you can type on glass! But all that nimble fingerwork isn't going to get you very far as you remain in loving communication with your mom and pop.

RN: Please, my parents don't know what "text" means, let alone how to use it as a verb.

CP: My mom really likes the whole idea of speed-dial, but is still trying to master its intricacies on a practical level.

RN: I think my dad just gave up his rotary phone. Then again, I'm losing the ability -- or is that the need? -- to remember telephone numbers. Yours is 612 ... something.

CP: The other night I was desperate to talk to someone, and I realized that no one wants to receive a phone call anymore. So I just dialed the woman at Sprint to talk about plans and conversion rates for the smartphone I crave. She was so nice. We must've chatted for 30 minutes. Unlike you, she was in no darned hurry.

RN: Phew. It's good to know that I am no longer your only friend. My shoulders are having difficulty bearing that burden, er, privilege.

E-mail: witheringglance@startribune.com.

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