I'm old

I remember asking Mr. Deramo, my ninth grade American History teacher, how you know when you're old. He laughed, said that was an excellent question (which is probably why I remember this--stroke the ego! stroke the ego!), and told me that when he had daughters, he realized he didn't like their music. Hence: old. The world had changed and he was left in the dust.

I'm 29. If I had shacked up and spawned at 20, I'd have a 9 year-old girl by now. She'd probably be into the Jonas Brothers, which, let's be honest here, is really just a less talented New Kids On the Block.

But it's not just music. It's technology and fashion. I remember a time when I noticed all the nifty little trends. I may not have followed them, but I at least was aware they were around me. Yesterday, I got off the train and saw a bunch of kids with these technicolor sneakers. I looked in a store window: more technicolor sneakers. I kept looking as I walked down the street: more technicolor! Did this change overnight? Or was I asleep at the wheel?

And then there's Twitter. Dear God, for the life of me, I don't get Twitter. A friend of mine described it as "micro-blogging." But it's limited to 140 characters. Can anything important really be analyzed in 140 characters? Anything? I suppose I "get it" for little news snippets. But most people using it use it to update you on their mundane events: "I'm on the bus. Lady next 2 me smells like fish. Tee hee." Really? Is this what we've come to? Does anyone care? And if they do, shouldn't they find something better to spend their precious seconds of life caring about?

Twitter to me is sort of like the pretty blond girl with fake titties you all know--we'll call this hypothetical one "Miss California." She's dumb, she's fake, she's new cool kid on the block (aka Fox News guest host), but eventually people are going to realize she's as useless as the saline in her chest cavity. Of course, I could be entirely wrong and Twitter could be the new internal combustion engine. What would I know? I'm old. Oh, and get off my damn lawn, you kids!