The rough childhood of a baby-boomer

Hey fellow Boomers,

I’ve seen those posts you make on Facebook saying that life was rougher when we were young and we’ve got the calluses to prove it.

Our video games were like moving cave drawings.

We got spanked.

We had to get up off the couch to change the channel.

Our moms smoked when we were in the womb.

Well, OK, that last one could be serious.

But really, boomers?

I mean, I’ll grant you that it seems like kids these days have their heads in their phones just about every waking moment. Then again, so do their parents and grandparents.

And I admit, posts about the good old days are fun to read. Nostalgia is always a kick. It’s great to reminisce about the wall-anchored anvil we used to call a phone, or the plastic yellow thing we had to stick in a 45 to play it on a record-player, or heavy tin pop and beer cans with no opening tab.

Heck, some things really were both harder and better at the same time. Walking to and from school really was healthy both physically and mentally.

But before we pat ourselves on the back, let’s stop to consider: We really do sound like our parents and grandparents did.

And of course, their hard-luck stories were generally that much harder.

Like pooping in a flimsy wooden shack over a hole in the ground, even in January.

Like worrying about dying from illnesses that mean little more than a couple days off work now.

Like having to envision the characters on a radio drama, AND having to get up off the couch to change the channel.

And we used to roll our eyes when older people told us those things.

Or prior to that, our grandparents’ world might have meant living out on the prairie where bugs constantly crawled out of the walls of the soddy and they had to get up off the couch to smash them.

So yeah, I had fewer and less-dazzling conveniences than the kids of today. But one thing this suburban child of the ’60s and ’70s didn’t have was a rough life.

My devices work for me, not the other way around

It’s a triumph sometimes just to put my tablet down.

I struggle to not let my activities to be dictated by when my devices are charged.

I have to remind myself to do something other than play Angry Birds or re-watch an episode of Breaking Bad or pop open all of my apps one-by-one to see if there’s something interesting that can distract me.

The distractions will find me, dammit! I don’t have to go looking for them.

But that’s the degree to which I – and a lot of other people, I’m sure – have given our lives over to these portable computers.

Think back, just 10 years or more, when most computers were rooted to a desk. Relatively easy to walk away from, though they did already have the power to hold you in one spot like a TV does to many of us.

Even laptops have their limitations as far as mobility goes.

But now, I often feel like I need to be toting that thing around with me wherever I go.

That’s why I’m pretty sure I’ll never change my mind about wanting to have a computer on my face like Google Glass, and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to have one on my wrist.

I’ll admit, I had similar doubts about mobile devices at one time. But I’ve taken to those little everything-machines pretty completely.

Now, I’d just like to keep them off of – and out of – my body and remember to take a break from them every now and then.

Life expectancy and expectations

I’m pretty lucky to be living right now, particularly being a 55-year-old man.

If I’d been born in the 1920s, as my father was, at this age I would be bumping heads with a man’s average life span.

That doesn’t mean I’d be necessarily checking out right away. It might mean that making it past 5 without my fragile system succumbing to the consumption, I could have a reasonable chance to make it another decade or more. That is, if I just toss around the medicine ball a bit more or sit in front of the radio a bit less.

If I were this age at that time, I’d probably look older than I do, because people years were worth fewer dog years back then. Younger people would see the attic door of death hovering right over my fedora.

One thing’s for sure: I wouldn’t have just had a tiny camera slid up my rear end to tell me I don’t have to worry about one of the lurking hazards for a few more years.

Yet here I am at this age in the 21st Century and I’m looking forward.

I’m aware that I could go tomorrow, of course.

And that’s part of the beauty of being this age: I’m well aware of the attic door up there, and when I think of it, I keep moving forward.

 

Not always looking at the holes

Robin Williams’ suicide made a lot of people start talking about depression.

I don’t know if that’s why I keep hearing about it from people I know, but I’m glad they’re getting it out in the open.

I know from my own bout with it a few years ago that feeling alone in it is a huge part of the problem. Or seeing the wonderful lives of all of your Facebook friends.

At least that’s the way it was when I was suffering a few years ago.

It was at the heart of the Recession, and that wasn’t helping things much, either.

Plus, I had quit my job of two decades a couple years earlier and the work I’d had came to a standstill and I was paralyzed by a lack of confidence.

I never considered doing myself harm, largely because I couldn’t do that to my children. But I fantasized a lot about dying. For instance, I’d had an out-of-control semi slide through the winter slush into my little Saturn and just crunch the rear end of it. I kept wishing it had caught me a split second earlier, right smack dab in the driver’s door.

But here I am, four or five years later and I don’t always look at the holes in everything. I realize there’s good and bad in every situation. Sure, you’re naive if you only dwell on the good, but you’re just as wrong if you dwell on the bad.

And my career is moving again.

So I hope that anyone in that tunnel stays with it and tries to move forward, because it does (most likely) end.

 

 

 

Sneezes don’t require vocal cords

People tell me my sneezes sound like a cat. They’re too dainty for a big guy like me, they say.

Just because I don’t wind up for a sneeze with a vocal “Aaaaah” and then follow it up with a shout of “CHOOO!”

Or whatever your particular bird call happens to be.

On the one hand, I appreciate your vocal warning that snot may soon be flying my way.

But really, you can just turn your head.

A year late to Beatlemania

I don’t remember what I did 50 years ago tonight, but the night did have a big impact on me.

With no teenagers in the house at the time, it wasn’t a big deal for me or my parents.

So for a while, I knew of them pretty much through the eyes of grownups’ lame jokes about their long hair and their noisy music.

And when we went to my aunt and uncle’s house, the Beatle bashing took on a teasing flavor since my older cousin had a crush on Paul.

We were fascinated by the little plastic statues in her room and the posters and “I Luv Paul” pins. She’d quickly get peeved at us pawing at them with our sticky and boogery hands and kick us out of her room.

It wasn’t until at least a year an  a half later that a neighbor asked my sister and me to go see “Help!” with her at the matinee that I caught the fever.

Not only was the music great, but John seemed to be speaking directly to me with his irreverent sense of humor.

Even grownups came around in the next couple years as songs like “Eleanor Rigby”, “Yesterday” and “In My Life” showed they were more than just a rock band.

And my two sons have been unqualified Beatles fans just about since they first knew what music is.

So yeah, I kind of wish I’d seen their first appearance on Ed Sullivan, but that was just one of many great memories they gave us.

And  glad I was there when it was still new.

The arrogance of technology

Auto Correct doesn’t have much faith in us humans.

There, right there! I just barely get started and you try to turn us into US. Like a little nationalism with your condescension?

I’m a professional writer and have been for 30 years. And yet here I am being told by a tablet what I really meant to say.

It’s kind of galling.

No I didn’t mean gallons, dammit!

Really?

You changed dammit into family? So I had to go back twice to correct it.

It was particularly aggravating when I was playing online Scrabble a couple days ago with a friend who secretes 80-point, seven-letter words at will. He had just left me in the dust with his latest gem and took to the messaging window to “apologize”.

So I tried to create a new compound word for him: scrabbhole.

Only the Kindle Fire was having none of it.

It kept changing it to scar, scrapbook, scrappy, ska, Scrappy Do and other wrong guesses. Worse yet, my frustrated XXL fingers kept hitting ‘send’, so my friend undoubtedly thinks I was having a seizure.

It makes me wonder, would Auto Correct have kept Kurt Vonnegut from inventing words?

What about Shakespeare? He invented words we’re still using today.

I’m not at all comparing myself to those guys. But it does make you wonder how language can continue to evolve if a computer program can try to tell you that your new word is no good.

Vonnegut would’ve had fits trying to write about his fictional religious leader Bokonon without it getting turned into bikini or Solomon.

And Shakespeare would’ve had a heck of a time trying to thumb in equivocal on his iPhone if it kept thinking he was trying to say equipment.

Not to mention colloquialisms and dialog words meant to keep things real and conversational.

In other words, if I Wanda say Honda, I’m Conan.

I mean, if I wanna say gonna, I’m gonna.

From vegan to caveman

No more veganism for me.

I can’t really claim to have ever been a vegan for more than a few weeks at a time.

But I did think that might be the silver bullet I needed to lose weight, lower my cholesterol and live to an age that’s old and ripe enough to make the folks at Smucker’s sit up and take notice.

That seemingly healthy diet kept dying of boredom in my hands, though.

I’d dive into it, thinking I could make a wholesale change like that with little problem. Then, after the initial surge of energy and good feeling, I’d inevitably run up against this reality: I love to cook, yet I’ve voluntarily nixed a huge percentage of my eligible ingredients.

How do you replace eggs, cheese, milk and meat all at once? Sure, Bill Clinton has done successfully so far, but I’m thinking he doesn’t have to come up with his own menu every night. Or ever, for that matter.

Anyway, my doctor agreed that all-plants-all-the-time is probably not going to work for me. So she suggested that I try the Paleo diet — sometimes referred to as the hunter/gatherer diet. Also, she recommended that I avoid an all-or-nothing approach this time.

Sure, I’m giving up some pretty universal ingredients with this one, as well. Grains, flour, beans and such are going to be hard to replace. But I have been incorporating as much of the diet as I can and feel lighter and more energetic.

It’ll be a gradual change, but I figure it’ll be worth it. And in another 50 years or so, Smucker’s will be wishing me a happy birthday. Not through Willard Scott, though. Unless he’s a paleo guy, of course.

And that means no more Smucker’s.

 

Back in the vegan saddle

Last month, I had a physical and talked to my doctor about diet, exercise, the whole shebang.

I told her I had tried going vegan last May and loved the way it made me feel – the weight loss, the energy, the satisfaction of showing some will power.

I told her I had tried going vegan for a month last May, though I snapped and binged on the 25th day. So now I’m giving myself a safety valve.

I’m going omnivore on Sundays.

After six straight days of grains, fruits, veggies and – hmm, . . . can’t think of any ands – I get to eat anything I want. The things I had avoided all week. The cookies, the steak, the chicken quesadillas. If it has egg, cheese or meat – preferably beef – I’m glommin’ it.

It’s still hard to get through the weeks sometime, primarily because it’s really difficult to come up with interesting recipes night after night. I mean, I’ve just jettisoned some pretty huge food groups, making my usually decent repertoire pretty thin.

But I’m determined to make it through to my April appointment to see if I can make an impact on my weight and health.

 

 

Re-creating the Channel 50 of my youth

On a blustery Michigan day like this, with loud winds blowing the snow horizontally, it’s hard not to think back on the cozy wintry afternoons when I was growing up.

You know the ones. With such a biting wind, playing outside isn’t much of an option. And besides, lounging inside with the smell of dinner or cookies baking makes days like these a treat.

But that made me think of something else that was often on in the background on days like this. Since I grew up in the Detroit area, WKBD Channel 50 was often on our TV in the afternoon.

I’m talking about the late ’60s and early ’70s, when the channel was owned by the independent Kaiser Broadcasting and its slogan was “the station that loves kids.”

When we’d come home from school, quite often, we’d flip on Channel 50 to watch reruns of earlier 60s TV shows or movie theater shorts that were older than our parents.

So I decided to complete the picture and play these old shows on my laptop while I’m working.

The point is not to actually watch these goofy old shows. For the most part, I have  no desire to do that. But it’s the comforting sound I’m after, including the background music.

So when I have them running in the background, it’s like when I’d be doing my homework, or reading a book, or whatever, with these shows going on at the same time.

We’d leave it on for a whole string of kids’ shows, like Lost in Space, The Little Rascals, Gilligan’s Island, the Flintstones.

Hulu has a lot of these programs, allowing you to do some one-stop shopping.

I don’t recommend them for all of them, though. Take the Three Stooges. It doesn’t really matter that they’ve colorized it.

But they’ve also digitally cleaned up the audio. The lack of crackling subtracts from the experience. I mean, with the old Channel 50 broadcasts, these were shows that were already pretty ancient, and the analog copies they played on 50 seemed like they’d been backed over by the delivery truck a few times.

Not to mention the fact that the Hulu Stooges collection is a little too Shemp-heavy, and they don’t even include the theme music.

So for those shows, it’s better to go to YouTube – or directly to Crackle since YouTube often links to the shows from there.

Still, there’s one thing missing. You don’t get the commercials for Trix, Armour hot dogs, or Super Elastic Bubble Plastic, that balloon-making goop in a tube with a smell that only a glue-sniffer could love.

You can find many of them, thankfully, at YouTube, but unfortunately, I don’t know a way of stringing them all together to get that c0ntinuous, old-timey Channel 50 feel.

Hopefully, someone will design an app for that.