Tech and Tattoos: a generational inquiry

i-xRDcb5d.jpgAnyone with any aptitude for technology has encountered this scenario, right?  The Family Tech Support issue, where you’re stuck between just fixing their problem, whatever it is, and refusing to help at all and just screaming read the words on the screen over and over again until they either help themselves or hang up on you.  And that last panel is always the end result of any of these conversations.

It’ll happen to you, too, they say, or maybe you think it to yourself.  Sooner I’ll be relying on my kids to help me figure out why the clock in my ocular implant is always blinking 12:00 over and over again, or I’ll need my son to point out to me that the reason my touchscreen “doesn’t work” is because I won’t just touch the thing and insist on stabbing at it with the tip of my finger like I’m hitting a key on a manual typewriter.

Lemme change the subject for a second.

I have six tattoos, and I’ve been fighting the urge for a seventh for the last few weeks– in fact, I’ve woken up a few times in the last few weeks convinced that I was going to go get another one that day.  When I got my first one (and this was 20 years ago now) I heard from my parents exactly what every other person my age heard from their parents.

“What are you going to do when you’re 80 and you still have that?”

And here’s the thing (and let me be clear, I’m not talking about my parents specifically here; this is a widespread cultural phenomenon): when people ask you that, they’re suffering from a weird sort of blind spot: they’re thinking of old people now, who are comparatively less likely to have tattoos unless they were in the Navy or something.  When I’m 80– which, good luck, fat boy– I will console myself with the knowledge that probably 70% of the rest of the 80 year olds sharing space with me in the nursing home will also have tattoos.  It will be normal.  Yeah, they’ll all be saggy and blurry and faded.  So the fuck what?  It’s not going to be weird at all.  2/3 of people my age have tattoos and we will still have tattoos when we are old.

Let’s talk video games.  When I was a kid, playing video games was a thing For Kids.  The notion that there would ever be jobs connected to video games was considered ludicrous; video games were a thing that we were all going to Grow Out Of, and they’d stay a Thing for Kids forever.  Why?  Because in the late eighties the Nintendo was a Thing for Kids.

I’m 40 and still playing video games, and I suspect a fair number of the people who were playing Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out with me are too.  And I suspect a lot of those who aren’t are likely out of gaming because of reasons unrelated to maturity.

So, I ask you: how likely is it really that people my age are going to have to be calling our kids to get basic tech shit explained to us in 20 years?  In ten, when my son is 15?  What exactly is going to change about me or the way I look at the world that’s going to cause me to lose the ability– or, more importantly, the desire, because that’s actually the salient difference here– to figure new shit out, other than actual dementia?

Nothing.  It ain’t gonna happen.  Will there be some aspects of technology/Future Life that I’m not going to get?  Sure, but that’s because of youth culture, not because of the tech itself.  I don’t know what the fuck Tumblr is for, and I don’t really get Snapchat, but my confusions are more of the why would you want to do this variety rather than I need this to make my life work, please show me how to use it.  

At 40, I’m about as old as you can be and still claim to be a “digital native,” a phrase more likely to be applied to millennials than people my age.  But I grew up with this shit, and the upbringing my son is getting right now is really not that different from my own childhood.  My first home game system was an Atari.  I had a Commodore 64/128 that I used to dial into local BBS systems over a 300 baud modem.  I spent so much time on BBSes that my parents had to install a second phone line in my bedroom.  I had a cell phone in 1995 or 1996, way before most people had them.  I still tend to be an early adopter in a lot of ways and my affinity for tech stuff is a key part of my personality.

And all of this is just supposed to go away at some point, when I have to start calling my son for tech support?  When, exactly?  When am I going to stop being myself, absent some sort of literal mental deterioration?(*)  It’s not going to happen.  This is just as much of a canard as Old People Don’t Have Tattoos or You’re Going to Grow Out of Gaming.

Or maybe I’m just hugely immature.  I dunno.


Somewhat unrelated contention: I hate the phrase “Generation X” and always have.  Gen Xers are older than me; I’m not one of them.  Millennials are younger than me and I’m not one of them either.  You may refer to my generation as either Generation Star Wars or Generation Nintendo; they both work as far as I’m concerned.

The clearest sign of whether you are in my generation or you are a millennial is this, by the way: if Pokémon was part of your childhood, you are a millennial.

The end.


(*) I am, and I hope this is obvious, not suggesting that people who aren’t good with technology are suffering from some sort of disorder.  But if it were to happen to me, it would probably be a sign that I needed to go see somebody.  That’s all I’m saying.

In which being old is bad until it isn’t anymore

LatyrxIf you’ve been reading for a while you probably have an idea that my music tastes are pretty catholic; I listen to all sorts of shit, but my heart has always been with hiphop.  I enjoy flooring my students with this; I suspect fat old white dudes aren’t exactly the demographic they associate with rap music, although I do lose some cred as soon as they figure out that I don’t listen to a single artist any of them have heard of, although I’m fond of pointing them toward good shit whenever I can.

Those two gentlemen there are Lyrics Born and Lateef the Truthspeaker, and they are two of the greatest rappers alive at the moment.  They both do solo work but together they’re a duo called Latyrx.  (Easier to pronounce than you think; mix the first syllable of “Lateef” with the last syllable of “Lyrics.”)  Their appropriately-titled second album, The Second Album, came out not too long ago.  It’s fucking brilliant.  Go buy it.

They did a show in Chicago last night.  I didn’t go.  I didn’t even try.  Guys, it killed me to pass up a chance to see this show; I’ve not been a huge fan of some of the live hiphop shows I’ve seen/heard in the past (Tupac’s live album is an embarrassment to music itself, and I love Tupac) but LB has actually already released a live album and it’s magnificent.  There’s no way these two don’t put together an awesome show.  But… leave my lovely wife and the kid here, drive to Chicago in twenty below bullshit weather, stand in line outside for the show in– again– twenty below bullshit, see the show, then stay the night in Chicago somewhere and come home?  Ehh…

(And speaking of twenty below bullshit, these guys are both from the Bay area.  They took the stage in full winter coats and hats.  I find that hilarious.)

I did a bit of mourning, honestly.  Then I started seeing Tweets this morning from the two of them from just before midnight (my time) that were saying things like “about to go on stage!” and I did a little bit more, because I went to bed a bit after midnight last night (we had a couple of friends over for game night) and it nearly killed me.  No way I can survive a  show that doesn’t even really get started until that late; not anymore.  I’m too damn old.  Which is sad and moderately embarrassing.  Oh well.  Maybe they’ll release the show.

Guess what.  Livestream of the entire show.  Bam.  

And I can watch the entire damn thing from my comfy office chair or my TV tomorrow, since due to the aforementioned twenty below bullshit I’m off work again.  I love the Internet.  I get to see the show and I got to actually get some sleep and spend last night with my family.

Maybe being ancient isn’t so old after all.  🙂

Back to the Bible, dammit.

There are apparently two new children at my school this year. Their names are Osiris and Goliath.

I just… I can’t, anymore, with this. Just no. No. No. You can’t. No.

I will be calling them Peter and Steven if they end up in my room.

(It has not escaped my notice that Goliath is a Bible name. My official response: shut up.)