Category: Culture

Dear Old People

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Okay, old people!  STOP IT!  Yeah, yeah, yeah!  We all know life was a gigantic hot fudge sundae back in the 70s or the 30s or whenever the hell you thought you were cool, but it’s time to give it a rest.  Every generation thinks they’re the best: take a listen to ancient Boomers yipping about the 60s as if it were an expensive suburb of Nirvana.  (It’s long past time to shoot that myth in the head, BTW.)  I’m not saying we shouldn’t be nostalgic for that magical time when we were young, beautiful, full of hormones and immortal (guilty as charged) but could we just shut up about it for five minutes? Here are a few facts old people need to remember before they start shouting their mouths off.

Nobody cares that you can rewind a cassette tape with a pencil.

Yeah, telephones were attached to the wall.  Big wow!  All that meant is every time you were talking to your friends, your mom, your dad and your dog could hear the entire conversation.

No matter how you spin it, watching a 6-year-old edited movie with a ton of advertising — on a 32 inch television set — is just not as good as watching a first-run HD film on a 60 inch big screen.  Especially when you were busting your bladder, waiting for the commercials so you could go pee without missing something.

Water from the garden hose was just water; it wasn’t 30-year-old Chablis.

The major difference between riding a bike with a helmet and riding a bike without one is – uh – I don’t know – brain damage?

The truth is, it was totally crappy to take a pile of pictures at your grandma’s 90th birthday party and find out — three days later — that half of them were out of focus.

The only reason Pong™ was cool is that’s all we had.

Carrying a camera, a Walkman™, a guide book, binoculars, a map, a pen, paper and a pocketful of coins, for pay phones and parking, when you went on vacation, was a total pain in the ass.  It’s a wonder everybody over 30 doesn’t walk with a limp.

And speaking of maps.  Cruising down the highway at 70 mph while simultaneously trying to find your exit on an uncooperative paper map the size of your dining room table was really kinda stressful.  And refolding the damn thing after you were done was even worse.

But the thing old people need to remember most about “the good old days” is:

It actually wasn’t all that much fun getting choked with cigarette smoke — in bars, restaurants, office buildings, on the streets, at the airport, in the park and (and this is true) in doctors’ offices and maternity wards.

The Loss Of “I Don’t Know”

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One of the weird casualties of the 21st century is that insignificant little phrase, “I don’t know.”  Think about it!  When was the last time you heard anybody say “I don’t know”?  It’s been awhile, right?  We don’t say “I don’t know” anymore because, in actual fact, we do know – literally everything.  It’s called a smart phone, and it puts all of us within a couple of swipes of the knowledge of the universe.  Unfortunately, this minor adjustment in the way we use our language has had a major impact on our society.

Personally, I lament the loss of “I don’t know.”  Back in the day, “I don’t know” helped us gracefully escape from all kinds of situations.

The strange guy on the street who smelled like dirty feet – (before Google Maps)
“Hey, dude, I think I’ve got, like, aliens following me.  Do you know where the cop shop is so I can report them?”
Solution — “I don’t know”– and a quick walk the other way.

The boring girl at the party – (before IMDb)
“Who was that guy?  You know– that guy.  He was in that movie with Liam Neeson where he shoots all those people?  You know– him.  It was before he was famous.  He has those pretty eyes.  I can see him.  And, and he was in that other movie– you know, the one with what’s-her-name.  You know the guy?
Solution — “I don’t know”–  and move on to the shrimp dip.

Aunt Myra’s problem with her antique bathroom – (before YouTube)
“When your uncle was alive, he used to take care of these things.  I know I still have the tools somewhere.  It’s probably just plugged under the sink.”
Solution — “I don’t know anything about plumbing, auntie.  Sorry.”

The friend who wants you to help him move – (before Android Calendar)
“Come on, man!  I gotta be out by the end of the month, or she’s going to throw all my stuff off the balcony.  Please, please, please tell me you can give me a hand on Saturday?
Solution – “I don’t know.  I’ll have to go home and check.”

It’s sad, but without the cushion of “I don’t know,” all of us are now saddled with a lot more responsibility, and I’m pretty sure Steve Jobs didn’t think about that back in 2005.

 

I’m Totally Tired Of Porn!

WARNING:  Opinions expressed on this blog are so cold you can skate on them.  Reader discretion is advised.

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I’m old enough to remember when journalism was an honourable profession.  (Yeah, I’m that old.)  In those days (and this isn’t just nostalgia) reporters reported the news, good reporters sought the truth and the great ones found it.  Even as I type this, it does sound a little corny and old-fashioned.  However, anyone, who was alive before Phil Donahue and his insipid brand of Jello Journalism f-f-f-fouled things up, will know what I’m talking about.  Edward R. Murrow’s boys (and more than a few girls) set the standard, and typewriters all over the world clattered away, trying to emulate them.  Unfortunately, those days are gone, and they’re not coming back.

These days journalists deal in porn.  It comes in many forms.  It wears many disguises.  But it’s always the same – an artificially arranged scenario whose sole purpose is to stimulate the audience — and any way you slice that, it’s porn.

Disaster Porn – Touring the wreckage has become de rigueur in television reporting.  Filming stunned survivors stumbling through the rubble is gold, and if you can get a shivering puppy on camera, you’re well on your way to a Pulitzer Prize.

Grief Porn – Shoving a camera into somebody’s face and asking, “Can you describe what was going through your mind when the police first told you your daughter had been eaten by cannibals?”

Poverty Porn – Camera crews and well-fed reporters, cruising through a refugee camp like it’s a guided tour of a human zoo of misery.  But the money shot is when they pull over and ask one of the locals just how horrible their godawful, wretched existence really is.

Ain’t it Awful Porn – This is when the downtrodden get an extra kick in the ass.  Journalists particularly enjoy empty foodbanks, old people who get scammed out of their life savings, and single mothers with cancer who lose their jobs a week before Christmas.

Trump Porn – OMG!  Look what the guy did, today!  LOOK!  JUST LOOK!  It’s way worse than yesterday!

It’s Not Really Porn Porn – No wonder feminists are pissed off all the time.  Believe me, Red Carpet cleavage, the wardrobe malfunction, the ever juvenile nip slip, and the full skirt caught by a random breeze are not actually news.  They’re occasions where polite people discreetly look away.

But the worst journalistic porn in the world is:

Inspirational Porn – Clearly, the only reason disabled people even exist is to demonstrate to the rest of us lazy bastards just how petty our problems really are.  Think about it!  The truth is, regardless of how talented, determined or resourceful these people might be on a normal daily basis — without their wheelchairs, journalists wouldn’t give them the time of day.