Apparently I'm in Egypt. And I'm wearing sweatpants.
It's as weird to me as it is to you.
Recently, three college friends and I decided to take a trip together over Christmas. Of course, nothing is simple ever and the logistics were a nightmare. We discussed about 14 different possibilities of where to go, and now it seems that I'm in Egypt.
I'm alone at the moment, and meeting up with the others over the next couple days. Somehow, the only workable plan is taking us through four countries in 16 days and it all makes very little sense. Should be interesting.
And anyone who knows this blog knows there will be an extensive report upon my return.
At the moment, though, I'm wide awake at 2am (Egypt time) because of jetlag, and I intend to detail my past 24 hours.
12/25, 3:00pm: I'm in my apartment, wearing sweatpants. Because it's cold. I'm packing and getting the last things done before leaving. When it's time to leave I pick up my jeans to put them on. And standing there, holding my jeans, I think, "Fuck it, you only live once," and pack the jeans. That's right, I decided to wear sweatpants on the flight. Wearing sweatpants in public is a big "fuck you" to the world, but I had about 24 hours of traveling ahead of me, and it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.
4:00: I arrive at the airport. Some kind of crowd at the airport on Christmas. It's like America without the Christians, which frankly is a weird place.
4:05: I am devastated to hear the Mariah Carey Christmas song "All I Want For Christmas Is You" playing in the airport. It had been stuck in my head all week ever since someone sent me the YouTube spoof of it, "All I Want for Christmas is Jews," like three days earlier. It had finally faded away and now this bullshit airport stuck it back in again. Nothing gets stuck in your head like Christmas songs in December. First, they're all ridiculously catchy. And second, you hear each of them like 350 times over a span of a month. This fucking Mariah Carey one is especially catchy.
4:20: I decide to check my bigger bag. Anytime I head to Crazy Land (my term for the Third World) I bring two bags-- a big backpack and a little backpack. The big one has all the clothes; the little one has all the important things (passport, camera, guidebook, journal, etc.). Usually I carry both on when flying. But I had two long layovers this time and it was a delicious thought to rid myself of it.
4:30: I head to security. I try to act extra nice to all the staff there after watching 60 Minutes this week.
4:40: They make me take my "jacket" off and put it through the machine. It's not a jacket-- it's a zip-up hooded sweatshirt. If it were a normal hooded sweatshirt they wouldn't ask me to take it off, but because it zips up, it's a "jacket" and I need to check it. One of many things that don't make sense about security.
4:42: They do a bag check on my bag. When I was packing, my eye caught my Swiss Army Knife sitting in my apartment. I've had it for a long time, and never use it for anything. But I'll be camping on this trip, and it seemed like something I might want at some point. Of course, it didn't cross my mind that sharp, potentially murderous knives are frowned upon by airport security. Farewell, Swiss Army Knife. I hardly knew you.
4:48: I see a stand selling those U-pillows that go on your neck, and realize I forgot mine. I want to buy one but they're $16, which is just annoying when you already own one. I call Andrew "The Body" Finn for support. He says I should definitely buy one. Andrew is incredibly cheap, so any time he approves of an expense, I definitely don't have to feel guilty about paying for it. I buy the pillow.
5:10: I board the plane. The flight attendant asks me what seat I'm in. 21B, I explain. Right that way on the right, she explains. I'm not really sure why they think that airplane seats are hard to find on your own.
5:11: 21B is a middle seat. Fuck.
5:12: I put the U-pillow on and it solves like 6 of my current problems.
5:13: Sitting there in sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and a soft U-pillow, I feel mad cozy.
5:30: Flight attendants are ordered by the omnipotent captain to "Please be seated." The plane lady sits down in her backward facing chair and I notice her put on a fancy seatbelt with two shoulder straps in addition to the waist strap that the rest of us have. This begs questions: Why don't passengers have the shoulder straps? Is it significantly safer with the shoulder straps? Or is it more dangerous sitting backwards? Why would they design a plane to make the flight attendants safer than the passengers? If we crash and all the flight attendants are fine because of the shoulder straps and everyone else dies, won't that look bad for the airline? Do the pilots have shoulder straps? Do the pilots just skip the seatbelts because no one will know anyway and if the plane crashes obviously everyone is dead anyway? Do the pilots have to put their seatbacks in the upright position before landing? Do their chairs even recline? Do they eat the meals the rest of us eat?
6:30: They put on a movie. Mama Mia. I watch a bit of it. The musical in the theater was kind of good-- the movie is unbearable. First of all, I'm all for chick flicks, but this is the biggest chick flick ever made. Secondly, it's really weird that they chose to cast an unattractive woman (Meryl Streep) as the mother. In the musical the mother was pretty hot, which was a key component of the whole thing. Third, it killed me trying to figure out who the main girl was, until I finally figured out that she was the random other girl in Mean Girls. Finally, it's really weird watching actors you know suddenly break out in song. In a musical, you just accept that the characters are going to be talking like normal people and then sometimes they're just going to start singing. But watching Pierce Brosnan having a chat and then suddenly start singing is just weird.
10:30: I decide to ask the girl next to me, "Where are you headed?" and immediately regret doing so. Planes are funny. You can treat the people next to you like inanimate objects and it's completely fine. But then, if you ever start a conversation, you irrevocably "cross over" into the normal, socially awkward adult world. It's easy to cross over, but almost impossible to cross back over to the original side if you decide you want to. Once you cross over with someone on a plane, you suddenly have to smile every time you make eye contact, continue to converse at the other person's whim, and when it's over, you have to say goodbye. You never have to say goodbye to people who you left in the inanimate object zone. So I crossed over with this girl because I was bored, because she was kind of cute, and because 3/4 of the people on this plane to Amsterdam were on their way somewhere else and I was curious. She was going to Madrid. That would have been all well and good, but she wouldn't let it stop there. She, it turns out, was in the mood to talk. Questions here, comments there-- I was trapped on the other side and there was no way to go back. After 15 or so minutes of this I tried to at least straddle the line by taking out my journal to write-- a pretty good hint, I thought. And I thought it had worked, but after a few more minutes, it was, "What do you do back home?" That line I had stepped over so easily now looked like a 40-foot stone wall with barbed wire and guards with machine guns on top.
11:30: We're passing Greenland on the little TV screen map. The following cities are in Greenland: Nuuk, Qaqortoq, Savissivik, Qaanaaq, Upernavik, Aasiaat, Ilulissat, and Oodaaq.
2:30am, LA time: We arrive in Amsterdam. I say the inevitable goodbye to my plane friend (not before exchanging email addresses, naturally).
2:33: Walking through the airport, I glance upon one of those HSBC "good bad bad good" ads-- this one with a piece of cake and a piece of broccoli, each labeled "good" and "gross" in their two pairs. I kind of love those ads.
5:30: I board my next flight, to London, and arrive an hour later.
8:00am, LA time: I board a flight to Cairo. A short door-to-door trip this is not.
8:02: Middle seat.
8:03: I notice, hideously, that not only are the two ladies on either side of me friends with each other, but they both have incredibly irritating machine gun laughs. Not one of them. Both of them. They machine gun laugh throughout the flight. By the end, every muscle in my body tenses up with every new laugh bullet.
2:00pm, LA time; midnight Egypt time: I arrive in Cairo.
12:15am: I arrive at baggage claim.
12:25: I wait for my bag. The big backpack.
12:35: I wait for my bag. Most of the other people are gone.
12:40: The bag belt stops moving. My bag is not on it. Everyone else is gone.
12:41: I want to kill myself.
12:42: I go to the guy working there and show him my luggage tag, which specifies LA-Amsterdam-London-Cairo. He shrugs and has me fill out a form and tells me to call back in a day or two and see if they've recovered it.
1:15: I'm in a cab to my hotel. I'm wearing sweatpants. It is now the only outfit I have. The song "All I Want For Christmas Is You" is stuck in my head.
And now it's 2:45am and I'm not tired. Luckily, I'm cozy. And will apparently be cozy for the next two weeks.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
The Old Days
This Cold Y Generation thing has me thinking.
Because technology has advanced so quickly in recent decades, the world I spent my first 10 years in and the current world seem like they should be separated by 40 years, not 15.
A description of life and technology in the 80’s seems to have a lot more in common with one from the 60’s than with one from today. I find it painfully easy to picture my future kids laughing at how archaic my youth sounds. The truth is, it would sound like another generation to a current 17-year-old.
I remember my second-grade teacher showing us a black and white Apple IIE in the school computer lab and telling me that it was like a typewriter except it moved to the next line automatically as you typed and you could make it perfect before you printed it, and that it scared a lot of people. A 17-year-old would expect to hear this from their father, not someone a decade older.
So a little lesson for the non-Cold people in Generation Y:
You want to meet your friend an hour before a baseball game outside the stadium:
1988: You set a time and a place. Hopefully there’s a nearby restaurant you both know or a well-known landmark. You plan to meet at 6pm, and decide that if something goes wrong and one person’s not there, you will try back at 6:20, and again at 6:40 if necessary. If there’s still confusion, both people will make sure they have a dime so they can use a payphone to call a common friend whom they know will be at home and the friend will mediate the confusion. Before you leave the house you need to make sure you have your map and your directions. If you don’t know the directions, you need to get them from someone who has been there before.
2008: You plan to meet around 6pm outside the stadium somewhere. You plug the stadium into your GPS or phone so you know where to go, or at worst you print out Google maps directions. When you get there you text your friend where you are and in a few minutes you’ve met up.
You want to talk with a friend who is living in a foreign country:
2008: You email them, or talk to them over Skype.
1988: You call them by dialing a lot of digits and it costs you $650.
You want to know the weather:
2008: You go to weather.com and see the whole week’s forecast.
1988: You go outside to see what the weather is. Or you dial 936-1212.
You want to hear a song but you don't have it:
2008: You download it to iTunes or to your iPod and you're listening to it 4 seconds later.
1988: You go to the store, buy the tape, and fast-forward and rewind until you find it on the tape.
You want to invest money in the stock market:
1988: You have to get a stockbroker and mail them a check. If you want to do any research first, you need to use the business section of the local newspaper, which won’t have what you’re looking for.
2008: The stock market is upsetting and you put your cash in a shoebox at home.
You want to know what year Abraham Lincoln was born:
2008: You google “lincoln born” and you learn the date in 4 seconds.
1988: You ask people around you and if no one knows you ask if there’s an encyclopedia anywhere and if there’s not you go to the library and if it’s nighttime you have to guess. 1805?
You want to keep in touch with a random person from your high school whom you were kind of friends with but not really:
2008: You friend them on Facebook and start an exchange. When you’re in the same city you can send them a message and get a drink.
1988: You don’t. You never see them again.
You’re a Red Sox fan and you want to give your Yankee fan friend shit:
1988: You don’t because he’d laugh at you and make you feel bad about yourself.
2008: You don’t because it’s too easy and you feel bad.
You’re out at a bar at 12:15am on a Saturday and you want to get in touch with a girl you know to see what she’s up to:
1988: You can’t. You go home alone like a loser and get McDonalds on the way.
2008: You send a text that says, “What’s up?” She doesn’t want to see you so she doesn’t write back. You go home alone like a loser and get McDonalds on the way. In the morning she texts you, “Sorry babe passed out early last night hope u had fun!”
You want to run a tutoring company:
2008: You correspond with parents and tutors over email constantly. Tutors log lesson notes on your system after every lesson so you can keep up with what’s happening with each student. You train tutors with a PowerPoint presentation and communicate with them through group emails. You can check office messages at any time with your cell phone and call people back on the spot. You can coordinate things with your full-time employees over email and phone easily and continuously. All of your accounting is on the program Quickbooks and all family and company data is stored online, along with all relevant forms and documents. You recruit new tutors online, applicants apply online and it’s easy to view maps of where all tutors and students live using a tool on your system. Interested families can learn more about you or get in touch by going to your website.
1988: I have no idea how anyone ran a tutoring company—or any business whatsoever—in 1988.
You’re in the kitchen. Your girlfriend bought brown rice and you want to make it but you don’t know how. You’re pretty sure it involves boiling water:
2008: You google, “how cook brown rice” and 4 seconds later you see instructions.
1988: You put way too much water in and fuck up the rice.
You want to watch TV:
1988: You turn on the TV and flip around, looking for something you want to watch.
2008: You turn on the TV and all the shows you ever want to watch are neatly stacked and waiting for you.
You want to know how many strikeouts Jamie Moyer had in the game today:
2008: You go on ESPN.com and get the answer in 4 seconds.
1988: You wait until the next morning and then find out in the paper.
You want to see Pele’s bicycle kick:
2008: You go on YouTube and you can see it in 4 seconds.
1988: You imagine it.
You need to research something or learn about something:
2008: You go online and learn all about it easily.
1988: You go to the library and search the hideous card catalogue to find publications or encyclopedia entries about the subject, spend a few hours, and learn one fifth of what you would have learned in 10 minutes in 2008.
You come back from a trip and want to show people pictures:
2008: You come back, load the photos onto the computer, delete the embarrassing ones, throw them on one of the photo sites, and everyone you know can see them next time they’re on the computer.
1988: You come back, go to the photo store, give the guy all your film, and wait a couple days. When it’s done, you pay for the developing, and the only people who see the photos are people that come to your house. Instead of flipping through them really quickly and staring at certain ones for a long time, they have to go through them all excruciatingly slowly while listening to your stories, and they can’t stop and stare for a longer time at the ones they want to.
You want to type a paper in college:
2008: You type the paper, edit it, print it out, and sprint as fast as you can to hand it in by the 1pm deadline.
1988: You type up the paper on a ridiculous typewriter, you can’t edit it unless you type the whole thing again, and you don’t sprint anywhere because you’re 6 years old and you don’t know what a paper is.
You want to be productive:
1988: You start working on something.
2008: You can't be productive because there are too many ways to procrastinate.
You want to sell the super-expensive, flashy watch your ex-girlfriend bought you because you never wear it and because she told you when you were dating that whenever she breaks up with a guy, she gives everything he bought her to her sister. This makes you angry every time you think about it:
2008: You go on eBay or Craigslist and sell it easily.
1988: The watch sits there on your shelf for years, and every time you look at it, you think about your ex-girlfriend’s sister wearing all the fucking things you bought your ex-girlfriend and you wish you had bought her more non-material things like that cooking class that she really liked although that random stranger at the class later wrote on an Apprentice message board that she had seen you two together in a cooking class and then people laughed at you because you were at a cooking class with your girlfriend.
You have a lot of random things you want to get off your chest:
2008: You write this blog.
1988: You talk a lot. Or you write a journal that no one but you will ever read.
So there you have it. None of this is even to mention career specific comparisons—I’m sure an engineer or an animator or a stock trader would have a lot to say about 1988 vs. 2008. The real question is—what will a 2028 technology comparison to 2008 say? Someone in 1988 could have tried to write a predictive comparison like this, but they would not have even imagined most of what actually exists now. So you have to assume that we can’t even really conceive of life in 2028. And definitely not 2048. By 2068 I’ll be 87 and technology will frighten me and I’ll just want people to leave me alone with my old archaic iPhone 8.0.
Because technology has advanced so quickly in recent decades, the world I spent my first 10 years in and the current world seem like they should be separated by 40 years, not 15.
A description of life and technology in the 80’s seems to have a lot more in common with one from the 60’s than with one from today. I find it painfully easy to picture my future kids laughing at how archaic my youth sounds. The truth is, it would sound like another generation to a current 17-year-old.
I remember my second-grade teacher showing us a black and white Apple IIE in the school computer lab and telling me that it was like a typewriter except it moved to the next line automatically as you typed and you could make it perfect before you printed it, and that it scared a lot of people. A 17-year-old would expect to hear this from their father, not someone a decade older.
So a little lesson for the non-Cold people in Generation Y:
You want to meet your friend an hour before a baseball game outside the stadium:
1988: You set a time and a place. Hopefully there’s a nearby restaurant you both know or a well-known landmark. You plan to meet at 6pm, and decide that if something goes wrong and one person’s not there, you will try back at 6:20, and again at 6:40 if necessary. If there’s still confusion, both people will make sure they have a dime so they can use a payphone to call a common friend whom they know will be at home and the friend will mediate the confusion. Before you leave the house you need to make sure you have your map and your directions. If you don’t know the directions, you need to get them from someone who has been there before.
2008: You plan to meet around 6pm outside the stadium somewhere. You plug the stadium into your GPS or phone so you know where to go, or at worst you print out Google maps directions. When you get there you text your friend where you are and in a few minutes you’ve met up.
You want to talk with a friend who is living in a foreign country:
2008: You email them, or talk to them over Skype.
1988: You call them by dialing a lot of digits and it costs you $650.
You want to know the weather:
2008: You go to weather.com and see the whole week’s forecast.
1988: You go outside to see what the weather is. Or you dial 936-1212.
You want to hear a song but you don't have it:
2008: You download it to iTunes or to your iPod and you're listening to it 4 seconds later.
1988: You go to the store, buy the tape, and fast-forward and rewind until you find it on the tape.
You want to invest money in the stock market:
1988: You have to get a stockbroker and mail them a check. If you want to do any research first, you need to use the business section of the local newspaper, which won’t have what you’re looking for.
2008: The stock market is upsetting and you put your cash in a shoebox at home.
You want to know what year Abraham Lincoln was born:
2008: You google “lincoln born” and you learn the date in 4 seconds.
1988: You ask people around you and if no one knows you ask if there’s an encyclopedia anywhere and if there’s not you go to the library and if it’s nighttime you have to guess. 1805?
You want to keep in touch with a random person from your high school whom you were kind of friends with but not really:
2008: You friend them on Facebook and start an exchange. When you’re in the same city you can send them a message and get a drink.
1988: You don’t. You never see them again.
You’re a Red Sox fan and you want to give your Yankee fan friend shit:
1988: You don’t because he’d laugh at you and make you feel bad about yourself.
2008: You don’t because it’s too easy and you feel bad.
You’re out at a bar at 12:15am on a Saturday and you want to get in touch with a girl you know to see what she’s up to:
1988: You can’t. You go home alone like a loser and get McDonalds on the way.
2008: You send a text that says, “What’s up?” She doesn’t want to see you so she doesn’t write back. You go home alone like a loser and get McDonalds on the way. In the morning she texts you, “Sorry babe passed out early last night hope u had fun!”
You want to run a tutoring company:
2008: You correspond with parents and tutors over email constantly. Tutors log lesson notes on your system after every lesson so you can keep up with what’s happening with each student. You train tutors with a PowerPoint presentation and communicate with them through group emails. You can check office messages at any time with your cell phone and call people back on the spot. You can coordinate things with your full-time employees over email and phone easily and continuously. All of your accounting is on the program Quickbooks and all family and company data is stored online, along with all relevant forms and documents. You recruit new tutors online, applicants apply online and it’s easy to view maps of where all tutors and students live using a tool on your system. Interested families can learn more about you or get in touch by going to your website.
1988: I have no idea how anyone ran a tutoring company—or any business whatsoever—in 1988.
You’re in the kitchen. Your girlfriend bought brown rice and you want to make it but you don’t know how. You’re pretty sure it involves boiling water:
2008: You google, “how cook brown rice” and 4 seconds later you see instructions.
1988: You put way too much water in and fuck up the rice.
You want to watch TV:
1988: You turn on the TV and flip around, looking for something you want to watch.
2008: You turn on the TV and all the shows you ever want to watch are neatly stacked and waiting for you.
You want to know how many strikeouts Jamie Moyer had in the game today:
2008: You go on ESPN.com and get the answer in 4 seconds.
1988: You wait until the next morning and then find out in the paper.
You want to see Pele’s bicycle kick:
2008: You go on YouTube and you can see it in 4 seconds.
1988: You imagine it.
You need to research something or learn about something:
2008: You go online and learn all about it easily.
1988: You go to the library and search the hideous card catalogue to find publications or encyclopedia entries about the subject, spend a few hours, and learn one fifth of what you would have learned in 10 minutes in 2008.
You come back from a trip and want to show people pictures:
2008: You come back, load the photos onto the computer, delete the embarrassing ones, throw them on one of the photo sites, and everyone you know can see them next time they’re on the computer.
1988: You come back, go to the photo store, give the guy all your film, and wait a couple days. When it’s done, you pay for the developing, and the only people who see the photos are people that come to your house. Instead of flipping through them really quickly and staring at certain ones for a long time, they have to go through them all excruciatingly slowly while listening to your stories, and they can’t stop and stare for a longer time at the ones they want to.
You want to type a paper in college:
2008: You type the paper, edit it, print it out, and sprint as fast as you can to hand it in by the 1pm deadline.
1988: You type up the paper on a ridiculous typewriter, you can’t edit it unless you type the whole thing again, and you don’t sprint anywhere because you’re 6 years old and you don’t know what a paper is.
You want to be productive:
1988: You start working on something.
2008: You can't be productive because there are too many ways to procrastinate.
You want to sell the super-expensive, flashy watch your ex-girlfriend bought you because you never wear it and because she told you when you were dating that whenever she breaks up with a guy, she gives everything he bought her to her sister. This makes you angry every time you think about it:
2008: You go on eBay or Craigslist and sell it easily.
1988: The watch sits there on your shelf for years, and every time you look at it, you think about your ex-girlfriend’s sister wearing all the fucking things you bought your ex-girlfriend and you wish you had bought her more non-material things like that cooking class that she really liked although that random stranger at the class later wrote on an Apprentice message board that she had seen you two together in a cooking class and then people laughed at you because you were at a cooking class with your girlfriend.
You have a lot of random things you want to get off your chest:
2008: You write this blog.
1988: You talk a lot. Or you write a journal that no one but you will ever read.
So there you have it. None of this is even to mention career specific comparisons—I’m sure an engineer or an animator or a stock trader would have a lot to say about 1988 vs. 2008. The real question is—what will a 2028 technology comparison to 2008 say? Someone in 1988 could have tried to write a predictive comparison like this, but they would not have even imagined most of what actually exists now. So you have to assume that we can’t even really conceive of life in 2028. And definitely not 2048. By 2068 I’ll be 87 and technology will frighten me and I’ll just want people to leave me alone with my old archaic iPhone 8.0.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Generations
I was at the barber the other day and while waiting my turn, the barber was cutting the hair of a man who was talking continuously. And the man was saying incredibly uninteresting things. So I decided to put on my headphones.
But then I realized that I’d be listening to something and inevitably Val (my awesome old Italian barber) would call my name when it was my turn and I wouldn’t hear him. He’d say my name again and then perhaps motion to me with his hand, which would perhaps startle me. And I didn't want that to happen.
So I looked on the table next to me and decided to pick up the comics—the “funny pages.” Out of 40 or so comics in the LA Times, there were about 3 that were funny and about 8 that were mildly amusing—leaving about 29 that were not funny. Really, LA Times? It always astounds me how many unfunny comic strips make it into major newspapers and land a recurring gig that lasts years. Is it that there’s a shortage of funny people trying to write comics? Or is it that newspapers want recurring strips (so fans will make a point of buying the paper for their favorites?) and the comics who get these secure gigs can take the job for granted and end up just doing a half-assed job? Is having a recurring comic in national newspapers a dream for a comic? Or is it a B-list dream, where they’d much rather be writing or illustrating for a TV show or something else if they could? Is that why the funny pages aren’t funny? Are the people who write for them spending the majority of their time trying to further their career elsewhere? In any case, Non Sequitur made me laugh.
So I’m sitting there reading all of these subpar comic strips when I hear the uninteresting guy say something about “Generation X.” I’ve heard a lot of people say something about Generation X before but it was in this state of severe boredom that it gave me pause.
Exactly what years constitute Generation X? Why is it called Generation X? Which generation am I? I was pretty sure Generation X people were older than me but I wasn’t positive. The only other generation I had heard of was the Baby Boomers.
So when I got home, I googled around and found this.
I found this thoroughly interesting. Some thoughts:
-The Lost Generation (currently ages 108 – 125) is mad old.
-The G.I. Generation (currently 84 - 107) is a very unique one. They lived through the Depression and World War II, and when the war ended they all got married, settled down, and had kids at the same exact time (hence the Baby Boomers). Now they’re all ridiculously thrifty and they’re obsessed with financial security. And they’re horrible tippers.
-The Silent Generation (currently 67 – 83) is mad random. Does it suck to be part of a random generation?
-The Baby Boomers (currently 55 – 66) are by far the most discussed generation, in part because of all their shenanigans in the 60’s. The Forrest Gump generation. My parents and everyone I know’s parents are Baby Boomers. Given that, shouldn’t I be part of another especially large, concentrated generation of kids? Grandbaby Boomers? For all I know that’s the case, but I’ve never really heard anyone say that.
-Generation Jones (currently 43 – 54) is ridiculously random, except for the fact that Obama is a member.
-Generation X (29 – 42), as it turns out, goes (at least in this account) from 1964 – 1979. Also a little random, right? They were teenagers in the 80’s and early 90’s. I’m sorry, but I’m not impressed.
-Then I was shocked to see something called “Cold Y Generation,” whose members were born in 1981 and 1982 (current 26 and 27-year-olds). What? I’m part of a 2-year generation? All the other generations are between 10 – 20 years long and mine is 2?? I read on further.
-Generation Y people are currently 11 – 28, which also includes me. Generation Y is, at the moment, defined by technology. They grew up with cell phones, laptops, digital cameras, AIM, Facebook and TiVo.
-They cap it off with Generation Z (currently 11 and under), proving that either they officially threw in the towel with creative generation names or that it’s just too hard to really define a generation until a few decades have passed.
So back to this weird, surprising “Cold Y Generation.” After thinking about it for a bit, I began to understand the reasoning. Like a lot of other people, those born in ’81 and ’82 happen to be in between two major generations. In most cases, generation beginning and end dates are pretty vague and loosely defined. But in this case, Cold Y Generation people nicked both the end of an abruptly ending Cold War Era and the beginning of an abrupt technology explosion.
Basically, current 26 and 27 year olds are just old enough to clearly remember a time before personal computers, before cell phones, before CD’s, and before the Cold War ended. On the other hand, they’re just young enough that they were in college when things like AIM and Facebook got big, and they are fully in tune with the online social world that current teenagers live in.
Am I being my-age-centric? Perhaps. Am I justified in doing so because the article gave me my own tiny generation? Yes indeed.
Oh, and the rhyme puzzle. Someone suggested “POOH SCREW FLU.” This seems legit to me since pooh is in the dictionary. Mine was “SKI THREE QUAY.” (Quay is pronounced “key.”) I originally had PRIX instead of SKI but the dictionary seems to think Prix is a proper noun.
But then I realized that I’d be listening to something and inevitably Val (my awesome old Italian barber) would call my name when it was my turn and I wouldn’t hear him. He’d say my name again and then perhaps motion to me with his hand, which would perhaps startle me. And I didn't want that to happen.
So I looked on the table next to me and decided to pick up the comics—the “funny pages.” Out of 40 or so comics in the LA Times, there were about 3 that were funny and about 8 that were mildly amusing—leaving about 29 that were not funny. Really, LA Times? It always astounds me how many unfunny comic strips make it into major newspapers and land a recurring gig that lasts years. Is it that there’s a shortage of funny people trying to write comics? Or is it that newspapers want recurring strips (so fans will make a point of buying the paper for their favorites?) and the comics who get these secure gigs can take the job for granted and end up just doing a half-assed job? Is having a recurring comic in national newspapers a dream for a comic? Or is it a B-list dream, where they’d much rather be writing or illustrating for a TV show or something else if they could? Is that why the funny pages aren’t funny? Are the people who write for them spending the majority of their time trying to further their career elsewhere? In any case, Non Sequitur made me laugh.
So I’m sitting there reading all of these subpar comic strips when I hear the uninteresting guy say something about “Generation X.” I’ve heard a lot of people say something about Generation X before but it was in this state of severe boredom that it gave me pause.
Exactly what years constitute Generation X? Why is it called Generation X? Which generation am I? I was pretty sure Generation X people were older than me but I wasn’t positive. The only other generation I had heard of was the Baby Boomers.
So when I got home, I googled around and found this.
I found this thoroughly interesting. Some thoughts:
-The Lost Generation (currently ages 108 – 125) is mad old.
-The G.I. Generation (currently 84 - 107) is a very unique one. They lived through the Depression and World War II, and when the war ended they all got married, settled down, and had kids at the same exact time (hence the Baby Boomers). Now they’re all ridiculously thrifty and they’re obsessed with financial security. And they’re horrible tippers.
-The Silent Generation (currently 67 – 83) is mad random. Does it suck to be part of a random generation?
-The Baby Boomers (currently 55 – 66) are by far the most discussed generation, in part because of all their shenanigans in the 60’s. The Forrest Gump generation. My parents and everyone I know’s parents are Baby Boomers. Given that, shouldn’t I be part of another especially large, concentrated generation of kids? Grandbaby Boomers? For all I know that’s the case, but I’ve never really heard anyone say that.
-Generation Jones (currently 43 – 54) is ridiculously random, except for the fact that Obama is a member.
-Generation X (29 – 42), as it turns out, goes (at least in this account) from 1964 – 1979. Also a little random, right? They were teenagers in the 80’s and early 90’s. I’m sorry, but I’m not impressed.
-Then I was shocked to see something called “Cold Y Generation,” whose members were born in 1981 and 1982 (current 26 and 27-year-olds). What? I’m part of a 2-year generation? All the other generations are between 10 – 20 years long and mine is 2?? I read on further.
-Generation Y people are currently 11 – 28, which also includes me. Generation Y is, at the moment, defined by technology. They grew up with cell phones, laptops, digital cameras, AIM, Facebook and TiVo.
-They cap it off with Generation Z (currently 11 and under), proving that either they officially threw in the towel with creative generation names or that it’s just too hard to really define a generation until a few decades have passed.
So back to this weird, surprising “Cold Y Generation.” After thinking about it for a bit, I began to understand the reasoning. Like a lot of other people, those born in ’81 and ’82 happen to be in between two major generations. In most cases, generation beginning and end dates are pretty vague and loosely defined. But in this case, Cold Y Generation people nicked both the end of an abruptly ending Cold War Era and the beginning of an abrupt technology explosion.
Basically, current 26 and 27 year olds are just old enough to clearly remember a time before personal computers, before cell phones, before CD’s, and before the Cold War ended. On the other hand, they’re just young enough that they were in college when things like AIM and Facebook got big, and they are fully in tune with the online social world that current teenagers live in.
Am I being my-age-centric? Perhaps. Am I justified in doing so because the article gave me my own tiny generation? Yes indeed.
Oh, and the rhyme puzzle. Someone suggested “POOH SCREW FLU.” This seems legit to me since pooh is in the dictionary. Mine was “SKI THREE QUAY.” (Quay is pronounced “key.”) I originally had PRIX instead of SKI but the dictionary seems to think Prix is a proper noun.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
16 Sayings I Hate
There are a lot of sayings out there. So many that they just kind of blend into normal English. People say things like "enough is enough" and "it goes without saying" and "first things first" without even realizing they're quoting some proverb. Some sayings originated in movies;* others were coined by famous writers or celebrities. A shocking amount were coined by Shakespeare. And while I have no complaints about most of these sayings, there are some that make me very angry:
I'll forgive...but I will never forget. This refers to the common saying, "forgive and forget." You hear a lot of movie characters say this, and they're lying. Anyone who says, all dramatically, "I'll forgive...but I will never forget" is blatantly not forgiving shit.
It's deja vu all over again. This is just annoying. Further, I've never experienced deja vu. I said this once in a group of people and everyone made me feel bad about myself. Sorry if I'm not some mythical, spiritual being who is connected to the spirits and sees dead people and thinks they've been in situations in another lifetime before they were reincarnated as the douchebag hippy that they currently are.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Why? Why, if someone fools me twice, should I feel shameful? And what kind of dick fools people twice? It should go, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, seriously get the fuck away."
The only person you can trust is yourself. What kind of horrible lives have people had that they say this shit? Who would want to marry someone who says this kind of shit? Frankly, I trust a lot of people more than I trust myself. I fuck a lot of things up. I'm a pretty reckless driver, I sleep through my alarm sometimes, I do everything at the last minute, I lose stuff, I mistreat my belongings, I buy too many groceries and end up throwing a lot of them out -- I'm kind of mad untrustworthy.
I slept like a baby. Babies don't sleep well. They're incredibly light, restless sleepers. I know John McCain kind of made this point on Letterman recently, but I thought of it first.
I'm gonna go freshen up. This isn't really a saying, but it still makes me upset. Only girls say this, and what it translates to is, "I'm gonna go do weird, creepy girl things in the bathroom." It's a euphemism for girls being icky. It might work better on guys without sisters.
Too little, too late. This only makes me angry when people use it wrong. Like when they really mean, "Too little," or "Too late" but not both. Like when McCain officially won Missouri a couple days after the election and talking heads were like, "Too little, too late." It wasn't too late. Just too little. If Missouri had been enough to put him over the top, the lateness would not have been a problem in the least. Sometimes people snazz this one up with, "A day late and a dollar short."
Things are not always what they seem. This saying is on this list because it frightens me. It's the kind of thing a scary narrator says at the beginning of a kids' ghost movie.
Don't be a stranger. First of all, it's just kind of an annoying thing to say. Secondly, the only people who have ever said this to me are people I kind of hope I don't have to hang out with again for a long time.
Life is short. I know. And it's a fact that upsets me. And I don't want to be reminded of it. The worst is when people follow this with something, like, "Life is short, so make the most of it." That's like someone telling me, "You know that great relationship you're in? Well, I know the future and she's going to leave you for another guy in 3 weeks, so make the most of it now!" or "You're going to get fired in a month, so dive in and enjoy your job while it lasts!" It's precisely when I forget that life is hideously short and finite that I can actually enjoy myself.
The early bird catches the worm! Fuck the early bird. This is discriminatory. I wake up late, I go to bed late, I prepare for things at the last second, and it's not right that I shouldn't get a worm like all the joyless, detail-oriented birds. I prefer the weird worms who emerge around noon anyway.
Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy wealthy and wise. No comment.
Practice makes perfect! No it doesn't. Practice makes it more painful when you're still bad at it. I've spent a lot of time on driving ranges and putting greens.
A picture is worth 1,000 words. 1,000 is a gross exaggeration. This blog entry is about 1,000 words. If I just posted some photo instead people wouldn't be like, "That seems sufficient." They'd be like, "Tim, you suck-- why did you post this dumb fucking photo?" And doesn't this contradict the whole notion of TV being a loathsome waste of time while reading is a wonderful, enriching activity? Which makes no sense, by the way. In this country, if I hung around all afternoon and watched the History Channel and learned all about the Civil War in the process, people would be like, "He's just wasting away in there...so sad...he must be depressed." But if I spent the afternoon reading some trashy novel-- then I'm a smart, interesting, productive guy.
All good things come to he who waits. Not remotely true.
We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Thanks, dick, but if I wanted to discuss it later I wouldn't have brought it up now.
*I've never really known how to use a semi-colon, and have rarely had the confidence to give it a try. But the whole point of a blog is that I can do whatever I want and no one can do anything about it. For example, sometimes I write out a number like "two" (which is what you're supposed to do) and other times I just write "2." Because whatever. Anyway, this semi-colon seemed correct. While we're here, I've always wondered why semi-colons have such a prominent place on the keyboard. They're mad rare. Why not switch the "P" and the semi-colon? Who first decided where all the keys went and did they realize what a big deal they were?
Okay, I just looked it up. Christopher Sholes is the dude who first decided where all the keys went, and he most likely did not realize what a big deal he was. Anyway, the entire article is kind of delicious. My favorite part is that Sholes switched the "R" key with the period key so that he could show customers how he could type "TYPEWRITER" using only the top row. In doing so, Sholes also unknowingly allowed me to type "STEWARDESSES" using only my left hand -- one of my favorite pastimes.
_______________________________________________________
Two unrelated things:
1) I watched "House of Saddam" on HBO on Sunday, the first two parts of a four-part series. It was riveting and I recommend watching the last two parts along with the first two when they all air together this Sunday. Uday Hussein (Saddam's son) is an unbelievably bad man. Like, a really, really bad, bad man. He was so bad that I had to learn more, and dug up this gem of an article from 2003.
2) This New York Times puzzle ruined half of my day the other day before I triumphantly got it:
The words "chic" and "squeak" rhyme with each other even though they have no letters in common. Think of three words containing a TOTAL of 12 or more letters that rhyme and have no letters in common. The words must be common, uncapitalized words, and each may have just one syllable.
I'll forgive...but I will never forget. This refers to the common saying, "forgive and forget." You hear a lot of movie characters say this, and they're lying. Anyone who says, all dramatically, "I'll forgive...but I will never forget" is blatantly not forgiving shit.
It's deja vu all over again. This is just annoying. Further, I've never experienced deja vu. I said this once in a group of people and everyone made me feel bad about myself. Sorry if I'm not some mythical, spiritual being who is connected to the spirits and sees dead people and thinks they've been in situations in another lifetime before they were reincarnated as the douchebag hippy that they currently are.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Why? Why, if someone fools me twice, should I feel shameful? And what kind of dick fools people twice? It should go, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, seriously get the fuck away."
The only person you can trust is yourself. What kind of horrible lives have people had that they say this shit? Who would want to marry someone who says this kind of shit? Frankly, I trust a lot of people more than I trust myself. I fuck a lot of things up. I'm a pretty reckless driver, I sleep through my alarm sometimes, I do everything at the last minute, I lose stuff, I mistreat my belongings, I buy too many groceries and end up throwing a lot of them out -- I'm kind of mad untrustworthy.
I slept like a baby. Babies don't sleep well. They're incredibly light, restless sleepers. I know John McCain kind of made this point on Letterman recently, but I thought of it first.
I'm gonna go freshen up. This isn't really a saying, but it still makes me upset. Only girls say this, and what it translates to is, "I'm gonna go do weird, creepy girl things in the bathroom." It's a euphemism for girls being icky. It might work better on guys without sisters.
Too little, too late. This only makes me angry when people use it wrong. Like when they really mean, "Too little," or "Too late" but not both. Like when McCain officially won Missouri a couple days after the election and talking heads were like, "Too little, too late." It wasn't too late. Just too little. If Missouri had been enough to put him over the top, the lateness would not have been a problem in the least. Sometimes people snazz this one up with, "A day late and a dollar short."
Things are not always what they seem. This saying is on this list because it frightens me. It's the kind of thing a scary narrator says at the beginning of a kids' ghost movie.
Don't be a stranger. First of all, it's just kind of an annoying thing to say. Secondly, the only people who have ever said this to me are people I kind of hope I don't have to hang out with again for a long time.
Life is short. I know. And it's a fact that upsets me. And I don't want to be reminded of it. The worst is when people follow this with something, like, "Life is short, so make the most of it." That's like someone telling me, "You know that great relationship you're in? Well, I know the future and she's going to leave you for another guy in 3 weeks, so make the most of it now!" or "You're going to get fired in a month, so dive in and enjoy your job while it lasts!" It's precisely when I forget that life is hideously short and finite that I can actually enjoy myself.
The early bird catches the worm! Fuck the early bird. This is discriminatory. I wake up late, I go to bed late, I prepare for things at the last second, and it's not right that I shouldn't get a worm like all the joyless, detail-oriented birds. I prefer the weird worms who emerge around noon anyway.
Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy wealthy and wise. No comment.
Practice makes perfect! No it doesn't. Practice makes it more painful when you're still bad at it. I've spent a lot of time on driving ranges and putting greens.
A picture is worth 1,000 words. 1,000 is a gross exaggeration. This blog entry is about 1,000 words. If I just posted some photo instead people wouldn't be like, "That seems sufficient." They'd be like, "Tim, you suck-- why did you post this dumb fucking photo?" And doesn't this contradict the whole notion of TV being a loathsome waste of time while reading is a wonderful, enriching activity? Which makes no sense, by the way. In this country, if I hung around all afternoon and watched the History Channel and learned all about the Civil War in the process, people would be like, "He's just wasting away in there...so sad...he must be depressed." But if I spent the afternoon reading some trashy novel-- then I'm a smart, interesting, productive guy.
All good things come to he who waits. Not remotely true.
We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Thanks, dick, but if I wanted to discuss it later I wouldn't have brought it up now.
*I've never really known how to use a semi-colon, and have rarely had the confidence to give it a try. But the whole point of a blog is that I can do whatever I want and no one can do anything about it. For example, sometimes I write out a number like "two" (which is what you're supposed to do) and other times I just write "2." Because whatever. Anyway, this semi-colon seemed correct. While we're here, I've always wondered why semi-colons have such a prominent place on the keyboard. They're mad rare. Why not switch the "P" and the semi-colon? Who first decided where all the keys went and did they realize what a big deal they were?
Okay, I just looked it up. Christopher Sholes is the dude who first decided where all the keys went, and he most likely did not realize what a big deal he was. Anyway, the entire article is kind of delicious. My favorite part is that Sholes switched the "R" key with the period key so that he could show customers how he could type "TYPEWRITER" using only the top row. In doing so, Sholes also unknowingly allowed me to type "STEWARDESSES" using only my left hand -- one of my favorite pastimes.
_______________________________________________________
Two unrelated things:
1) I watched "House of Saddam" on HBO on Sunday, the first two parts of a four-part series. It was riveting and I recommend watching the last two parts along with the first two when they all air together this Sunday. Uday Hussein (Saddam's son) is an unbelievably bad man. Like, a really, really bad, bad man. He was so bad that I had to learn more, and dug up this gem of an article from 2003.
2) This New York Times puzzle ruined half of my day the other day before I triumphantly got it:
The words "chic" and "squeak" rhyme with each other even though they have no letters in common. Think of three words containing a TOTAL of 12 or more letters that rhyme and have no letters in common. The words must be common, uncapitalized words, and each may have just one syllable.
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