Friday, 11 March 2011

Let us....take time out

Remember me I am your father. Here have a photo

We are like ships in the night destined to meet by accident in the darkness of the shadows, time for a light switch methinks. I could grow a beard and shave it off before I am recognised as a person of influence in the teenage life. I appear to be a passing tourist in the journey to adulthood of my boy.

But talking of shadows, I wondered what that shadow that cast a mean moody magnificence to the youngster's face and wondered if the mood lighting was working.

His bumfluff is migrating to stubble, and I as you common old garden middling-stepping-on-the-business-ladder exec without a safety net, means I feel I am missing out, I have hardly discussed shaving techniques. My role as the great Educator is superfluous to the adequate Provider.

There appears a thousand and one urgent business related deadline things to do, rather than compliment his facial fungus or even criticise it or even smirk in a proud to know a sign of a maturity in boy.

He is growing older and I am growing old. Business meetings should wait a while, if the .....but the...while the .....and who pays for the Playstation 3.

Friday, 4 March 2011

Black is black I want my T-shirt Back

Goth is Goth, Emo is Emo. emu is emu which is a strange introduction to how things were and whatever happened to the likely lads, I am learning a new trick or two.

And I can remember when Billy Connolly threatened to break Emu's neck and by coincidence a certain puppet master's arm.

I can remember phones that trilled, and our family hardly passed for modern, because ours phone did not trill. Our phone provided exercise for the digits as dialling was instigated by navigation of its circle of numbers

A phone was as mobile as far as the chord let it stretch.

TV was unknowingly only terrestial, satellite was still a NASA only zone.

CDs were still letters of an alphabet, as tapes and vinyl dominated the slang album, record, 45; our music had two sides.

Food was heated slowly as a microwave was still unseen.

There were video games that were the size of the average suitcase and heavier than the average dumbell, it was cutting edge in its picasso like in imagery.

Things have moved on and smaller.

When my daughter became wired for sound it was not to a Walkman . She was Ipodded to the beat. When I forced myself to upgrade I went for sale quality hardware and an MP3 player. It was so small and I bought a protective cover which sometimes begs the question why buy something because it is impressively small and then I make it robustly larger. Maybe its a sign of age that things need to propotionate to my belly.

I stay a little younger than my middle age spreading belly, by any stretch of my imagination, suggests because I am keeping up with the younger generations bring new fangled things into my circle of interest. I learn new tricks by staying in touch with the younger generation.

The kids want modernity in all its peer group competitve forms and they are slowly indulged by parents worn down by athritus as much as the perils of the economic crisis; but there is a line to be drawn in the charity of T-shirt is not modern and I want it back thank you very much.