The culture has passed us by.
Is thug just a replacement for the n word (a phrase that makes me gag as I type it since we're all saying it in our heads as we read it, anyway) ... and, if so, when did it happen and why did no one inform me?
Then, again, why do I think I have to be notified of a cultural shift? The answer is obvious to me: my generation defined the culture, right up until technology took it away from us. Before then, we had our fingers on the pulse of what was new, from the electric typewriter
to the first generation of portable personal music
through the DiscMan's CD's
and the ultra-cool, all-in-one Sony radio,
right up until the iPod and the need to understand playlists and downloading and copyrights.
It didn't used to be this hard.
It's not only on television that my cluelessness is brought home to me. The children's section of the book store still has Make Way for Ducklings and Blueberries for Sal in the classics section, just as it did when I was young, and when my children were young. But now, Where the Wild Things Are is sharing the shelf with Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel and that's just not right.
I try to keep up, but when my local radio station was sucked into a national, taped, generic conglomerate I lost my last link to current musical tastes. NPR is not the place for such knowledge. Nor is Sirius, nor XM. I'm locked into what I know. That's not a bad thing, as far as it goes. The problem is that the rest of the world is moving on, and I am not.
Renee Fleming astounded the sportscasters with her powerful rendition of the national anthem. Her voice was an equal match for the fireworks and the fighter jets. To me, that was culture. I wonder if those on the other side of this divide are wondering why they'd never heard of her before?
Or, is that the prerogative of those of us on the downward slope of life? I ask because, as I typed this post I began to realize that I really didn't care about being disconnected. Perhaps it is the reality of being a matriarch which sends me to this place of comfort with these limitations.
Then, again, if someone wants to send me a playlist of songs you feel I absolutely must know in order to be in and of the moment, I promise to give them a try. I'm old, but I'm still breathing, after all.