CSotD: iPanem et Xtreme Xircenses
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Dan Piraro is a bit of a greenie nag, but today's Bizarro is not only well-crafted but brings up something that brings out my Andy Rooney side. And I hate sounding like Andy Rooney, but wotthehell.
This may be a country-boy memory that my more urban contemporaries can't relate to, but we spent a lot of time in a silence that was only broken by us. Even as transistor radios freed us from the tether of a power cord, we were too far from any rock stations to listen to them before sundown, and cassette players came along late in the game and were neither hi-fi nor easy to record music on. As for texting, that wasn't even in my own children's formative years, much less my own.
And we walked a lot. Teens still walk a lot, despite the stereotype of "Mom's Taxi." Offer a kid a ride and he's apt to say, "Nah, it's not that far," and it's a mile and a half or more. But then he plugs in and walks down the road, eyes on the screen as he texts with his friends. Is nobody ever alone anymore?
My buddy Bill and I used to sing as we walked. Mostly pop tunes — the Wee Five version of "You Were On My Mind" was a biggie in our repertoire — but I had also taught him a couple of Irish songs that had great metre for walking the roads. People knew when we were walking by, but, since we had pretty good voices, nobody ever complained.
And it's worth noting that, just a decade before, the lack of portable music led city kids to create Doo-Wop. We certainly weren't that sophisticated. But, with our rural opponents often 40 miles or more away, we sang on sports buses. The wrestling team built up a body of Johnny Rivers covers that was not to be despised, while the more crowded basketball bus included cheerleaders and the pep squad, giving Leslie Gore and the Shangri-las a decided edge.
And then there were the miscellaneous benefits of being alone. I can whistle through my fingers because of those long walks home, during which I was free to blow and spit and try different angles until I found the right combination. And I pondered things as I walked along, with no interruptions, no distractions.
For all that, however, I can look around at my contemporaries and I surely won't make the claim that we're any wiser than the kids, or, at least, we weren't wiser at their age, and we aren't geniuses today. (Could it be that Dan Piraro and I are only noticing the people who have their txt going constantly, and missing the others?)
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