OK. So I'm in Publix with a short grocery list.

I take a gander at the Monday crowd, which is relatively new to me since Mondays were not shopping days until I was recently released from Camp Tribune for time served.

It's a mixed group of shoppers including the usual folks walking around with blue tooth phone thingies in their ears, talking to themselves - or so it seems.

Other people sans blue tooth talk on their cell phones as they stroll down the aisles driving the basket with only one hand instead of two.

I sniff to myself. I wouldn't do that. It's rude, particularly in the check-out line. Dangerous, too, when some mom with one of those huge car-carts filled with kids is trying to navigate around corners and other shoppers while yelling at the kids and talking on the cell phone all at the same time.

Anyway, I continue my quest for half-and-half, eggs, yogurt, Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwiches (I take statins, so I can indulge), paper plates and "Cooking Light" magazine.

As I head around into the frozen food aisle, I notice some old dude looking at me.

I'm relatively clean with only a tiny coffee stain or two on my shirt. I surreptitiously check the zipper on my jeans (it's zipped) and my nose for boogers (none that I can feel).

So what's this guy looking at, I wonder.

Then it dawns on me.
While I'm sniffing in disgust at the cell phone users, I'm rocking down the aisles. Not skipping, mind you. Just sort of dancing - you know, doing the head bob and the shoulder shrug.

It's impossible NOT to do that when U2 is blaring "Bloody Sunday" in your ears.

Damn iPod makes it hard to feel superior to the tech-addicts these days.