I Got the Bug

I tell ya, man, this writing thing, I just have lots to record lately. Who knows why?

Stella knows how to open my laptop. This made me think about the large chasm that will permanently exist between her childhood and mine. I mean, my big technological indulgence as a child was the Texas Instruments Speak and Spell. This was a big deal because it was portable and it taught you how to spell really challenging words like hat, fat, shat (heh. not really). I remember becoming very confused with its pronunciation. You had to figure in the poor pronunciation when you were counting how many words you actually misspelled. Because the sounds would get all addled. And if you thought it said, "Spell bat," and it really said, "Spell that," you could hardly be at fault. I mean, right?

This got me to thinking of all the things that she will think of differently than I do. Take Michael Jackson for instance. As I sit here typing this I am listening to The Jackson 5 on my iPod. (Which is a whole 'nuther subject.) When I was a kid Michael Jackson was still cool, popular and representative of a African American male human. This cannot be said today. If I tell her when she's older that I used to love Michael Jackson she will think I am some sort of freakazoid. She will have no idea that miniature scale Asian teenagers fainted at the mere knowledge of his nearby presence. She will not know the terror that was inflicted upon his fans when his hair caught fire while filming a Pepsi commercial. Besides, what's plain old Pepsi anyway?

Like I said, I'm sitting here listening to my iPod. I received it from my brother two weeks after Stella was born. He received the upgrade for his birthday so he was no longer in need of this iPod. However, my receipt of this gift coincided with the conclusion of the era in my life where I might possibly have a moment or need of filling any silence in my life with music. Surely you jest, you say. Reader, I jest you not. Today is probably the third time I've placed these headphones in my ears to partake of my iPod luxury. And while I was at it I played some Solitaire, too.

This whole experience is making fantasize about some parallel universe where I have a job that I commute to on a subway. I live somewhere that is always cold thereby necessitating jeans and a scarf. I have to fill my time on my urban commute by plugging in my little iPod and listening to music. Or perhaps books. Whatever. This parallel universe is pliable. But the only part of this universe that I envision is just that commute. I grab a coffee and get on the subway and off I go to my job. But in this universe I never actually have to go to the job. I don't have a fantasy job. Unless it's something like Jenna Rink's job in Thirteen Going on Thirty. She makes it look fun and stress-free to be a big shot magazine editor.

Someday I'll download that movie onto a super tiny video device and watch it with my daughters. And then I'll direct them to the following little treat on youtube:



The man had mad skills! "Mama always told me, 'Be careful who you love. Be careful what you do, before a lie becomes the truth.'" Truer words have not been spoken, Michael.