Tag: contemporary life

Hey, Boomers: Shut Up!

pie1Back in the Stoned Age, when I was growing up, there was an unwritten rulebook, which, like The Pirate’s Code, acted as a kinda running guide for the transition from primitive adolescent to responsible adult.  It covered pretty much everything — except sex (which was trial and error) and how to make a salad.  We didn’t so much live by the rules as reference them in times of crisis.  For example, when those pesky grandparents showed up with birthday money you moved the illegal agriculture off the “dining room” table and took down the more aggressive examples of bachelor art.  Here in the 21st century, that old way of life is more-or-less passé and we’ve discarded the rulebook.  After all, it’s usually grandma who’s hiding the drugs these days, and they’re dancing about boobs on the six o’clock news.   However, even though I say good riddance to most of the hypocrisy we practiced back then, it seems a shame that we threw the baby out with the bath water and no longer tolerate some of the niceties of civilized behaviour.

One of the cornerstones of life, as we used to live it, was that old people were stupid.  Every generation knew this.  Somewhere around menopause (male and female) the human IQ drops about twenty points and then continues to slowly decline on a straight shot to the grave.  People don’t actually die of old age; they simply become too stupid to live.  This is one of the tried and truisms, handed down from parent to child since Achmed the Unwashed decided to set up shop in the Euphrates valley – circa 40,000 years ago.

Of course, this utter stupidity never prevents the average old person from running off at the mouth.  They consider it a combination of their right to make noise and duty to be heard.  When I was a kid, most of the blather was irrelevant instructions on how to survive a world war – which hasn’t come in handy, yet.  (FYI, I don’t think my generation ever did convince the parents that the only thing walking away from World War III would be a cockroach.)

However, I digress.  The unwritten rule was that you listened to these old gasbags jawing away.  You shut your mouth, made all the right noises in all the right places (polite was another of the unwritten rules) and, then, after they’d cleared off, you did as you damn well pleased.  The sage advice from the grey hairs was not for you; it was for them.  It was a catalogued recollection of all the opportunities they missed, the risks they shouldn’t have taken and the places they screwed up.  Everybody knew this and acted accordingly.  Unfortunately, those days are gone, and our world is the lesser for it.

Since we threw out the old unwritten rulebook, the same people who scoffed at their parents are now demanding we take theirpie ancient wisdom seriously.  They want to keep running the show.  The problem is they’re retrending the ideas, solutions and institutions they’ve been yipping about since back when Bruce Willis still had hair.  The world has changed since then, and just FYI, that crap never worked in the first place.  And, here’s the kicker: people are listening to these fossils.  This is ridiculous.

I’m as clever as the next fellow — and smarter than most — but I have no clue what’s going on in 2013 and no right to make decisions about it.  I grew up in a time when baseball players swung for the fences, casual sex was important enough to keep private and the truth was protection against prosecution.  The world I see out my kitchen window is alien to me.  Hell, I have no idea what the 83 other buttons on the TV remote are there for – and neither does anyone else on the business end of 50.  We’re not supposed to.  We’re not supposed to be setting the agenda; we’re supposed to be complaining about it!

This is the first generation where the old folks are unwilling to go gentle into that good night.  They’re clinging to power like drunks hanging onto a lamppost.  Unable to go forward, unwilling to go back, they have no idea why they’re there in the first place.  The only thing they do know for certain is if they ever let go, they’re going to be lost in the gutter.

Me, I liked the olden days.  You knew where you stood.   And just like my parents and their parents and theirs — back a thousand generations – sometimes, I’m consumed with nostalgia and want to return to a more civilized time.  A time when young people were seen and not heard and old people were heard but never listened to.

Gender Equality: A Lesson in Polite

polite2Since Valentine’s Day is only a few sleeps away, it’s time for a cautionary tale.

A little while ago, I got picked up in a bar.  It was a shameless act; the woman was old enough to be my granddaughter.  She asked me if I was alone; I coyly said I was waiting for someone, and she sat down.  Gender rituals have obviously changed in half a century.  BTW, despite what anybody who knows me will tell you, my ego is not so large that I considered (even for a nanosecond) that she was interested in me.  I’m fully aware that my best before date was a long time ago and about the only thing I have to offer young people these days is hackneyed advice.  Which, it turns out, was exactly what she wasn’t looking for.

Her story was the usual one: girl meets boy, boy treats girl like Disney Princess, girl treats boy like he’s the Prince, neither one of them is, the unsustainable passion ebbs, everybody gets pissed off.  She asked me why.  I’m too old a wily coyote to jump into that creek without a paddle, so I hesitated.  Then, call it ego, captive audience or one too many hefty white wines but – whatever! — she proceeded to explain it to me.

Apparently, the battle of the sexes has changed dramatically since Ricky and Lucy used to fight it out every week back in the 50s.  It seems men, no longer interested in women, have quit being polite.  They’re greatest failing, aside from bathroom etiquette, is an obstinate refusal to hold doors open.  This archaic practice, above all others, is the major reason why older couples (she tipped her glass to me) have stayed together all these years.  I have an ex-wife who could have provided stern evidence to the contrary, but since I obviously wasn’t waiting for her, I kept my mouth shut.

Yet there was more.  Since doors had become a sort of feminine DIY item, men just weren’t even trying anymore.  They certainly polite3don’t dress the part – not like in the old days.  Nor do they hold coats, chairs, flowers or their bodily emissions in check.  I stopped her there.  There are some things strangers don’t let strangers share.

She went on for another wine and a half and since I wasn’t about to have three pale ales on an empty stomach, I said I was late, excused myself, and went outside to wait.

She was right, you know.  We men are not as gallant as we used to be.  Chivalry is not necessarily dead, but it is in intensive care.  It’s a casualty of gender equality and our increasing descent into permanent Casual Friday.  It’s difficult to be on your best behaviour when you’re wearing flip flops and a sweatshirt, especially when your companion is falling out of most of her clothes.  Besides, the quintessential act of opening a door for someone has become a chauvinistic minefield.  Polite might not be seen as patriarchal, but it’s not always smart to take it on faith.  There isn’t a guy over 16 who hasn’t been stitched up after an encounter with the feminist fascisto, who don’t always make their presence known – until it’s too late.

Of course, there is a moral to the story.  I wasn’t aware of it at the time or even standing outside in the dizzily rain.  For all her caustic observations, it never occurred to my new friend that I hadn’t ever invited her to sit down.

Images by Dina Goldstein

Relationships are Difficult

tv ad4The other day I had another argument with my television set.  We are no longer speaking, it and I.  I think it’s better if we stay away from each other for a while rather than say or do things we might regret later.  I’m not one to badmouth things behind their backs; if I have anything to say, I’ll say it right to the screen.  However, my TV is as petulant as a Somali warlord and about half as predictable.  Still, every grey cloud has a silver lining, and while my TV and I have been giving each other the cold shoulder I’ve had time to reevaluate our relationship.

I must admit my TV is not totally to blame for our breakup.  It’s apparent we’ve grown apart in recent years.  Sadly, even though it has tried to keep the magic alive, introducing new channels and keeping the picture quality bright and beautiful, I find myself longing for the good old days when it was just the two of us.  We only had basic cable then and a mechanical videotape machine (that flashed 12:00, 12:00, 12:00) but we were young and reckless and it didn’t matter.  These days my TV sets the time by itself – from a satellite.  It doesn’t need me or the Owner’s Manual.  In fact, there is no Owner’s Manual, anymore; everything comes preset.  I remember it, though: the childlike wonder of exploring new features, experimenting with the settings, long afternoons slowly coaxing the perfect contrast and brightness levels; each subtle change responding to my touch.  Once, I switched the default language to Spanish as a prank; in better times, we still laugh about that one.  Then there were those long winter nights when I’d stop off at Blockbuster or Videomatica.  We’d order pizza and spend the evening in the darkness, laughing with Tom Hanks or the Blues Brothers.  One weekend, we just stayed home and watched the entire Star Wars trilogy – twice!  Those were good times, back in the day.

In all honesty, I haven’t been totally faithful to my TV.  I’ve watched movies on my computer and played games on my telephone.  But they were sordid affairs on darkened, domestic flight airlines and city buses.  They didn’t mean anything to me.  I used earphones and never got the full experience.  In fact, they only made me appreciate my 40 inch flat screen — with stereo theatre sound-around — all the more.

I suppose it was just the day-to-day routine that drove me to use other devices.  I can have whatever I want, whenever I want it, but there’s a sameness about it – no spontaneity, no discovery, no trembling anticipation.  Despite all the channels, the HD picture, the iTunes Video on Demand, it always comes back to the same old/same old: know-it-all detective shows and dysfunctional family drama.

In fact, that was what the argument was about in the first place.  I wanted to watch something different for once, but it was already recording two “We’re all Doomed” documentaries and refused to change without killing one of them.  Then I accidently killed them both and recorded a stupid insult sitcom with Charlie Sheen.  So you see, it wasn’t actually her fault, at all.  In fact, she was just doing what she thought I wanted.  At the end of the day, that’s the real problem.  I haven’t kept up with all the changes in her life.  I really don’t know what half her remote buttons do anymore, and I haven’t given her the quality time it takes to find out.  It’s no wonder she thinks I take her for granted.  Yet, there she is, all by herself in the corner, quietly recording Season Three of Downton Abbey just so I don’t miss an episode.  I guess it wouldn’t kill me to go over and see if she wants to take a look at HBO and see if there’s something on.  Besides, I’m sure she wouldn’t want me to miss the NFL playoffs this weekend.

But I don’t think it’s a good time to say anything about the “Words with Friends” app I’ve got on my telephone.