THE OLD MAN AND THE “ME”

First let me tell you right up front this is not a rant on the dynamics between my father and I while I was growing up so don’t expect any juicy tidbits about anything like that. In fact my father doesn’t factor in to this subject at all. Nor is it some sort of analogous nod to Hemingway and his book or the fact that from time to time I have looked (and acted) similarly to him at various stages in my life. When I stay at the El Tovar hotel on the south rim of the Grand Canyon I don’t stay in his old suite and park myself on the balcony and shout drunken obscenities to the tourists below while I bang away on my laptop instead of a typewriter when I’m there. Freud is barely a part of the conversation too even though the “Father of Psychoanalysis” was, by profession, a neurologist and renowned researcher in Cerebral Palsy and probably knew more about me then than I do right now. Unfortunately I don’t have any significant “Oedipal” issues worthy of bringing him to the party for. Somehow though all of these people and issues mean nothing on their own but collectively…they’ve started me to wonder more than a little bit lately about a vast library of things that have hit me in the face over the past few months. I’m too young to be old and too lucid to be feeble but many would like to treat me that way in spite of those facts. I’m old enough to know that wisdom is not necessarily knowledge but knowledge is needed to create wisdom. Looking and acting younger in order to be considered “relevant” has never been a dance I’ve felt compelled to learn. It’s not that I can’t, don’t or won’t embrace new things it’s just that I’m at that point in life where I feel I’ve earned the right to be extremely selective about who and what I allow into my life. I have no need to gain favor with anyone…they need to gain mine and that includes lovers as well. Unfortunately for all concerned I have probably forgotten more sexual techniques and etiquette than most have or will ever have learned and along with that some bridges I wish I hadn’t burned when I had the opportunity to do so. In many ways this probably makes me a social antique…so be it. A typical night out for “adults” these days is to go out to a futuristic train wreck of a nightclub or “retro” bar and drink Red Bull and Vodka with frozen “tapas” while they smoke their electronic cigarettes. They sit there in their uncomfortable chairs in their uncomfortable circus clothes and text each other because the music is so loud they can’t talk to one another about how much they PAID to get VIP treatment and where they’re going for their next “Exclusive” trip. Please…you’re kidding right? That isn’t being social that’s pathetic posturing with make-believe food and drink at the Mad Hatter’s table. The “Old Man” you see smiles knowingly while the “ME” inside laughs hysterically at all of the bad acting. Speaking of acting…thanks to the education world our children no longer know how to be creative. Kids have been taught to do little more than text (an antiquated method of communication) while they’re driving and die much sooner on their way to the only job they’re qualified to do these days…working in the drive-thru window at a fast food place or being a pseudo-computer geek wearing a red or blue polo shirt. The few that survive major in “Communications” in college and take jobs in the Media Industry through their Fraternity and Sorority brother’s and sister’s who aren’t really qualified but have great ideas. They want to resurrect all of the really bad movies they grew up with and see if they can make them even worse with “hot” new actors their own age. They don’t know how to write so that’s all they can think of to do. Life needs to stop imitating art…or art needs to stop imitating life…whichever the case may be. People used to read to learn and/or escape from real life for a while and connect with a different point of view. These days it’s unnecessary expose’s on somebody or war, murder and deceit masquerading as a medieval theme park. Movies try and outdo each other on how violent they can be compared to the world outside the theater until some dumb fuck who fails a test and decides to make the inside of the theater all too real as a way to get their fifteen minutes of fame. The sad part is that I can say with some certainty there are at least a dozen idiots out there planning to one up the carnage because they’re not smart enough to come up with anything original yet they want their moment in the spotlight. The “Old Man” you see on the outside cries knowingly because he’s seen it happen before. The “ME” inside cries even harder because he knows this will all come true yet again. When people in my generation came around we were the “Us” generation, an all inclusive “change the World” generation that quietly morphed into the “Us…Against Them” generation when yuppiedom sang its siren call, it didn’t take long for us to abandon our principles. Our children were the “Me” generation with a giant sense of entitlement and a self-absorbed, lazy sense of importance. When you asked them to clean something they looked around for their imaginary maid and regardless of whether they graduated or not from college they expected to be paid more than we were paid at that moment from the get-go. What makes it worse is we condoned it and blew “happy smoke” up their asses. Then along came the Gen-X,Y and Z slackers who can’t keep their clothes up, have no money or ambition but they do have thousands of dollars of tattoo’s and body piercings on them (I wonder how that happened and who paid for it?). What’s next…the “aMoEba” generation? Admittedly the gene pool needs cleaning but… Our parents didn’t fuck up everything that’s happening today…we did. Between our greed and apathy we let all of this happen while hoping someone else will pick up the pieces. Then we dropped the ball by not teaching them to pick up anything or giving them the tools to do so and those generations are teaching our grandchildren (and possibly great-grandchildren) to give it all away without a second thought…it might interfere with their video game playing. The “Old Man” everyone sees is tired, upset and disgusted with everything around him. The “ME” inside is finally mad enough to make a change. The question is where to start.