What Jeff Wrote Before Cleaning The Aquarium
Know what? I'm old.
I went to the library yesterday and visited the children's section, to the aisle where I used to make a beeline for when I was a young'un: the dinosaur section. And what I found interesting was that, among the horde of shiny, new offerings still sat the same books that I had flipped through when I would frequent the aisle. Such makes for an unstoppable nostalgia attack.
In this, I found myself remarking (to myself), "It's too bad that kids today can't experience the eighties." And then I stopped and blinked, realizing what I had just thought. So what does that make me, now that I've had a "back in my day" moment?
And the shocking thing is that it was real, not a joke. I almost felt sorry for kids today having the internet and deeveedees and stuffed animals that could pass a Turing Test. I remember playing Duck Hunt on the original NES. Remember that? I still have no idea how that gun worked. I'm positive that that's a product of research at some Groom Lake-type facility. Failed super-weapon, successful child's plaything. But I have digressed.
But as much as I could sit here and reminisce about "the good ol' days" (days when things were good and ol') I think that is the essence of the whole thing. I, personally, am disappointed with how the world and my life is turning out. The world has just about always been this way, it seems; every day I have one more illusion about the state of things dashed into the dust. I always assume that people, at large, are nicer and, generally, more decent than they actually are (including myself). In my disenfranchised state [Look intelligent through use of big, esoteric words --Ed.] I look back to my childhood for some kind of utopia; like Adam looking back at the Garden of Eden, seeing a life of labor in thorns ahead. I guess that would make puberty my cherubim and flaming sword. Which is probably a much better example than my first thought, of me being like the Battlestar Galactica, looking to the past for protection.
That was way deeper than I was anticipating. I guess that's what I get for reading an essay on the nature of "Freedom And The Illusion of Freedom" in that Finding Serenity book. I guess there's not much I can do now except email my cousin, admittedly belatedly, to rub in his thirtieth birthday. The first of my generation in my family has officially left childhood behind him. Thirty. Years. Old. Old. I am currently trying to enjoy my early twenties, with the looming spectre of life laughing at me. I talked with a high-school friend about how, in the next ten years, we may very well acquire real jobs, wives, and children. My mom consoled me by saying that she'll be old, deaf, and blind by the time I procreate (or, to quote, "so old deaf, and blind"). Love ya, Mom :).
Both of my cousins have kids. My girl cousin (the mother of the cutest one that just turned one; see below) just found out that she's pregnant with her second child. And where does that leave me? I'm too young to be old and too old to be young. And, of course, that's a lie and will probably serve to compound the problem further, leading to me reliving my childhood in the form of periodic psychotic breaks, but at least it allows me to summarize this and neatly store it in my subconscious so that I don't to go through the discomfort of undergoing something similar to a spiritual journey of self-discovery. Because that might lead to some kind of personal metamorphosis, which my fear of change will not allow. And while the previous few statements have been self-depreciating, sardonic comments meant for humorous purposes, I think I may have hit on something. Perhaps people aren't afraid of change, they're afraid of changing. They're not afraid of the weapon, they're afraid of the death.
And I just wanted to a read a dinosaur book.
I went to the library yesterday and visited the children's section, to the aisle where I used to make a beeline for when I was a young'un: the dinosaur section. And what I found interesting was that, among the horde of shiny, new offerings still sat the same books that I had flipped through when I would frequent the aisle. Such makes for an unstoppable nostalgia attack.
In this, I found myself remarking (to myself), "It's too bad that kids today can't experience the eighties." And then I stopped and blinked, realizing what I had just thought. So what does that make me, now that I've had a "back in my day" moment?
And the shocking thing is that it was real, not a joke. I almost felt sorry for kids today having the internet and deeveedees and stuffed animals that could pass a Turing Test. I remember playing Duck Hunt on the original NES. Remember that? I still have no idea how that gun worked. I'm positive that that's a product of research at some Groom Lake-type facility. Failed super-weapon, successful child's plaything. But I have digressed.
But as much as I could sit here and reminisce about "the good ol' days" (days when things were good and ol') I think that is the essence of the whole thing. I, personally, am disappointed with how the world and my life is turning out. The world has just about always been this way, it seems; every day I have one more illusion about the state of things dashed into the dust. I always assume that people, at large, are nicer and, generally, more decent than they actually are (including myself). In my disenfranchised state [Look intelligent through use of big, esoteric words --Ed.] I look back to my childhood for some kind of utopia; like Adam looking back at the Garden of Eden, seeing a life of labor in thorns ahead. I guess that would make puberty my cherubim and flaming sword. Which is probably a much better example than my first thought, of me being like the Battlestar Galactica, looking to the past for protection.
That was way deeper than I was anticipating. I guess that's what I get for reading an essay on the nature of "Freedom And The Illusion of Freedom" in that Finding Serenity book. I guess there's not much I can do now except email my cousin, admittedly belatedly, to rub in his thirtieth birthday. The first of my generation in my family has officially left childhood behind him. Thirty. Years. Old. Old. I am currently trying to enjoy my early twenties, with the looming spectre of life laughing at me. I talked with a high-school friend about how, in the next ten years, we may very well acquire real jobs, wives, and children. My mom consoled me by saying that she'll be old, deaf, and blind by the time I procreate (or, to quote, "so old deaf, and blind"). Love ya, Mom :).
Both of my cousins have kids. My girl cousin (the mother of the cutest one that just turned one; see below) just found out that she's pregnant with her second child. And where does that leave me? I'm too young to be old and too old to be young. And, of course, that's a lie and will probably serve to compound the problem further, leading to me reliving my childhood in the form of periodic psychotic breaks, but at least it allows me to summarize this and neatly store it in my subconscious so that I don't to go through the discomfort of undergoing something similar to a spiritual journey of self-discovery. Because that might lead to some kind of personal metamorphosis, which my fear of change will not allow. And while the previous few statements have been self-depreciating, sardonic comments meant for humorous purposes, I think I may have hit on something. Perhaps people aren't afraid of change, they're afraid of changing. They're not afraid of the weapon, they're afraid of the death.
And I just wanted to a read a dinosaur book.
posted by Jeff at 9:28 PM
1 Comments:
Current USA Nova Extreme fixtures have a slim design, HO T5 lamps and an electronic ballast. This fixture is very low profile and is designed to direct any heat created from the lamps away from the aquarium. Each bulb has its own reflector to increase efficiency and light output.
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