Sunday 3 February 2013

Talk to the Hand

There are confessions to be made, things to be put out there.

In between Sci Fi and Sci bore is the nerd glass floor..

I have touched the nerd gene and about to share it with the world. So to confess, I like Dr Who ( a world famous British sci-fi series, that is classic)......... and this long intro is to talk about the "Ood".

The Ood are a kindly "Dr Who" monster created or modified by some zany nasty evil person and damned to forever carry a light bulb thing, its as pure evil as you can get outside of having a Lava lamp as a fashion item.  Anyway what has this to do with teenagers....well.......I am talking about the secret love child of the Ood and the human race. Somehow, somehwere there has been an evolution to my....my boy. Truth is stranger than fiction and fiction has become fact. He is the new generation mutant, non-pedigree cross breed "I-pood", with all undue respect to boasts and triumphs in the toilet department.

He sits on a sofa looking at a palm, he gets up and walks about looking at his palm. The palm carries a non-organic, as if it is as vital to his well being as a heart should be. It is like an external pacemeker keeping a rhythm to a teenage existence. The palm is lit like a lightbulb, a torch to the teenage world outside. Sometimes he chuckles at the palm, sometimes he ''tuts, sometimes he apparently 'likes',  this is 21st century art of conversation, talk to the hand has gone digital.

I think he goes to the toilet with the palm not helping in things necessary for cleanliness. But let's not go to toilet humour again, because that hand- lightbulb configuration is surely not a zip-friendly thing that evolution intended, it is functioning like a toilet lid, no stool shall pass because its only got three limbs.

He is now as one-armed as a bandit, that seldom gives out money. Table manners are forfeited as fork and knife have a single hand to share. Typing speed is reduced by 50%; clapping is a dissappointing hi-five style with landing lights; catching things is a lottery, unless we are talking about a computer virus.

It is as if this is the next step of evolution is here, the man-machine human interface has got too intimate. I am living with the embodiment of a Trekkers' Borg, Stargates' Replicators, Battlestar's Toasters, I am afraid, its a case of keep my teenager close and my circuit breaker closer.