A Mixed Bag

More and more, the average young person is consumed by capitalism, spending his (or her or their) precious time shopping at Amazon by day and hanging out in trendy beer parlors and tapas bars at night. I find these activities abhorrent. Yes, you heard me, abhorrent (from the Latin abhorrere, to shudder away in horror), especially those tapas bars where every interesting morsel arrives drowning in some sort of interesting oil, and thousands of interesting calories slide down your gullet but you're still hungry when you're finished.

To avoid becoming one of those old people who is out of touch with modern times I try to keep up, it's just that lately there is little of value to keep up with. Besides, it may be too late for me already. I started falling behind years ago when I eschewed a twitter account, or is it Twitter? Who knew then it would get to be so big, with even world leaders communicating on it? But still I resist; I have no intention of limiting myself to 140 characters unless I'm getting paid to do so. It's so dystopian! What a lock on creativity; can you imagine Virginia Woolf on twitter (Twitter)?

Then too, I still cannot wrap my mind around the whole "hashtag" thing. My son has valiantly tried to explain it to me many times, but just like football, I don't understand what the hell it does for anyone. Ditto Pinterest. You found something you like? Why not jot it down in a notebook, or tear a page out of a magazine? Why does everyone with access to the Internet need to learn about your personal taste in throw pillows or dog beds or, in fact, anything?

I guess it's just an unavoidable part of aging. To me the good old days really were better, and that's what all old people say. On the other hand, I have taken to blogging just like a millennial, or whatever the new ones are called now, so I suppose all is not lost. Even though I carry a Medicare card, life is good: I survived a heart attack and am now in better shape than before it! I love my wonderful son, who grows more interesting every day! And my husband, who might someday retire and actually spend time with me, I should live so long!

Still, I miss Michael Jackson, Gregory Hines, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, James Gandolfini, my dear friend Noreen Welle, my Uncle Melvin, my parents and grandparents, my shrink and every one of  my dead pets. And last night, while watching "It's A Wonderful Life" on TV, it hit me hard that nobody has ever replaced Jimmy Stewart and likely never will. (I wonder, can #Jimmy Stewart bring him back?)