Sunday, 23 February 2014

Why We Never Get Over High School



Here is an interesting article on a conversation starter.  From:
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Mentioning high school is loaded with hidden meaning
Hello. Where did you go to high school?” When so many of you nominated this question as your natural conversation starter, as I mentioned here last week, it was tempting to dismiss it as an example of how Americans never quite get over high school. Was this just about Fast Times at Ridgemont High, or 90210, or The O.C., or forever remembering all the other schools in your league? Or maybe you all are 18 years old. But you wrote with such enthusiasm, thoroughness, and conviction, that it looked like something else was going on. So, I decided to look again.

Your nominations of this particular question came in from all corners of the country-- all mid-sized cities-- like Louisville, New Orleans, St. Louis, Cincinnati, Baltimore, Charlotte. They came from all ages of you, from the millennials to those who wrote that a half century ago, this question was also asked in Chicago and San Francisco,  when those cities were arguably more “mid-size” than they are today. You also said this was the question of Oahu (where we know the young Barack Obama of modest means attended the elite private school, Punahou) and from Melbourne, Australia.
From your descriptions, it became clear that “Where did you go to high school?” is another way of asking “Where do you live?” But you aren’t seeking a simple answer of name or geography with either of those questions. You are using those questions to seek valuable information about the socio-economic-cultural-historical background of a person. It helps you orient that person in the context of the world as you live it and interpret it.
...more, in article...

Wednesday, 12 February 2014

'Fifties retro...



1950s version of an E-Mail.  No idea who is the author, but read on! 

Long ago and far away, in a land that time forgot,  
Before the days of Dylan, or the dawn of Camelot. 

There lived a race of innocents, and they were you and me,  
For Ike was in the White House in that land where we were born,  
Where navels were for oranges, and Peyton Place was porn.  
We learned to gut a muffler, we washed our hair at dawn,  
We spread our crinolines to dry in circles on the lawn.  
We longed for love and romance, and waited for our Prince, 

And Eddie Fisher married Liz and no one's seen him since. 
\We danced to 'Little Darlin,' and sang to 'Stagger Lee'  
And cried for Buddy Holly in the Land That Made Me, Me. 
Only girls wore earrings then, and 3 was one too many,  
And only boys wore flat-top cuts, except for Jean McKinney. 

And only in our wildest dreams did we expect to see  
A boy named George with Lipstick, in the Land That Made Me, Me.  
We fell for Frankie Avalon, Annette was oh, so nice,  
And when they made a movie, they never made it twice.  
We didn't have a Star Trek Five, or Psycho Two and Three, 

Or Rocky-Rambo Twenty in the Land That Made Me, Me.  
Miss Kitty had a heart of gold, and Chester had a limp, 
And Reagan was a Democrat whose co-star was a chimp.  
We had a Mr. Wizard, but not a Mr. T,  And Oprah couldn't talk yet, in the Land That Made Me, Me.  We had our share of heroes, we never thought they'd go,  
At least not Bobby Darin, or Marilyn Monroe. 
For youth was still eternal, and life was yet to be,  
And Elvis was forever in the Land That Made Me, Me.  
We'd never seen the rock band that was Grateful to be Dead,  
And Airplanes weren't named Jefferson, and Zeppelins were not Led.  
And Beatles lived in gardens then, and Monkees lived in trees,  
Madonna was Mary in the Land That Made Me, Me.  
We'd never heard of microwaves, or telephones in cars,  
And babies might be bottle-fed, but they were not grown in jars.  
And pumping iron got wrinkles out, and 'gay' meant fancy-free,  
And dorms were never co-ed in the Land That Made Me, Me.  
We hadn't seen enough of jets to talk about the lag,  
And microchips were what was left at the bottom of the bag.  
And hardware was a box of nails, and bytes came from a flea, 

And rocket ships were fiction in the Land That Made Me, Me.  
Buicks came with portholes, and side shows came with freaks,  
And bathing suits came big enough to cover both your cheeks.  
And Coke came just in bottles, and skirts below the knee,  
And Castro came to power near the Land That Made Me, Me.  
We had no Crest with fluoride, we had no Hill Street Blues, 

We had no patterned pantyhose or Lipton herbal tea  
Or prime-time ads for those dysfunctions in the Land That Made Me, Me.  
There were no golden arches, no Perrier to chill,  
And fish were not called Wanda, and cats were not called Bill.  
And middle-aged was 35 and old was fifty-three, 

And ancient were our parents in the Land That Made Me, Me. 
But all things have a season, or so we've heard them say,  
And now instead of Maybelline we swear by Retin-A. 

 They send us invitations to join AARP,  
We've come a long way, baby, from the Land That Made Me, Me. 
 So now we face a brave new world in slightly larger jeans,  
And wonder why they're using smaller print in magazines. 

And we tell our children's children of the way it used to be, 

Long ago and far away in the Land That Made Me, Me.  
If you didn't grow up in the fifties,  you missed the greatest time in history, 
Hope you enjoyed this read as much as I did.

-------

Saturday, 1 February 2014