The Boiled Egg of Infinity

The Old Coot blog party is now dearly departed, and it leaves us all with a clearer understanding of how we and those around us perceive this ever-changing world of ours. With reactions to the various party entries ranging from “Oh, I never thought of that.” to “Phew! It’s not just me, then?” I think it is safe to say that the party has been something of a success, even if I do say so myself. With that in mind I would like to thank everyone who attended for bringing their perspectives to the party, along with many delicious (and false-teeth safe) nibbles.

When my own entry to the party turned out to be a little more melancholy than I had originally intended, it was nice to see some others taking a more light-hearted approach. One such was Wendy, who opened up her tirade of wrinkled fist waving with a blast at cartoons, and the sheer amount of choice kids have these days with satellite TV and cable channels. Not like that in our day, no sir. She then went on to reflect on how movies – and attitudes to movies – had changed. After that clothes were mentioned, with a lament on how kids dress far older than they need to these days. Finally, she regretted that books did not seem to play such a large part in kid’s lives these days, something that had me nodding along a little in sad agreement. Wendy was last seen heading in the direction of the jar of boiled sweets, muttering something about her skull being eggshell thin.

In Wendy’s comments another old coot, SarahD, found the “parent perspective” very interesting and revealed that she can see herself being a fairly controlling old coot–sorry, parent. In these days of kids revelling in videogames and TV, she remembers her childhood spent reading, playing outside and engaging with her friends, which is something she would like to pass along to the next generation of her family. I can almost hear the cry of “run outside and cut me a switch.” as I sit here and type.

Darrell rolled in next, his bath chair rattling over the threshold and nearly knocking over several of our frailer guests. For his advanced years Darrell had a surprising amount to say and punctuated each point with a vicious stab of his walking cane. Someone did ask why someone in a wheeled chair needed a cane, but all they got was another prod. Darrell echoed earlier points about playing outside, and added that it didn’t seem as safe a world to do that in these days, which is sadly true. Videogames came in for another beating (they seem to be a popular target), since they now resemble cartoons and intimidate us older sorts who are more used to Fire Ant, Dizzy and Frogger. This led on to cartoons, and there being so much more choice now (is this perhaps old coot jealousy of the young?) but they don’t seem to make as much sense as they used to. Schoolwork being done by computers, and computers themselves, earned another round of poking with his walking stick, before he grumbled something about political correctness and rolled off in the direction of the bourbon. He’s never been seen since, but we believe several blunt force traumas in the area can be traced back to that damn cane.

Lorna arrived in a dashing lace number and a blast of talcum powder, ready to discuss the ways of the world and release her inner old coot. She had a lot to say and a lot to impart, but kept nodding off halfway through sentences so it took a while to get it all out of her. She railed against the kids, giggling as you’re trying to reminisce, and their damn fashions, which she is sure has been around a few times before now. Of course, all this is for naught if all the knowledge you have accrued is slipping away through your ears. Top Ten lists were next on the hit list, especially when you only get 1 item out of the 10 selected. Speaking of numbers, her inner old coot remembered owning an 8-track. On a more serious note Lorna reflected on seeing history repeat itself through innumerable conflicts, how education and workplace practices have changed, and how her religious feelings, gender and perceptions of age have all shifted as she has gone through life. I was busy nodding along and thinking of all the points she had brought up, so I didn’t notice the men in white coats come and take her away. By all accounts she put up a hell of a fight.

Kelly tried to remember what she wanted to say, then wandered off for a while to find her slippers. When she came back with her slippers on, she found she was in too damn good a mood to rail against anything much. She was a happy old coot for the day, but we won’t hold that against her will we? Her grumbles, because of her good mood, were fairly minor: she regretted shops being open all week, and wished for at least one day that they just stopped for a moment. She also wished there weren’t quite so many of the same shop in the one area, I think because she once wandered in and bought three loads of the same shopping from three different Wal-Marts. Burger King containers were next, but crazy old man MCF thought she meant McDonalds. Alas for both of them, burgers are by now far stronger than their false teeth, so we will never know. Finally Kelly managed to shake her fist at muscled-out athletes, who do not look normal to her.

The aforementioned crazy old man MCF stopped cackling long enough to get some rants off his wheezy chest, starting off with the branding of TV shows, bad editing and those damn logos that block off chunks of the screen. The decline in workplace ethics earned his wrath next, but he did like the rise in DVDs as a format. He also likes computers and how they allow a balance between artistic and technical approaches, as well as the internet. Though just in case he was in danger of throwing his lot in with happy old coot Kelly, he did go on to say that he can only see advertising getting worse, and change will only go on. He was last seen hobbling off with $60,000 in a biscuit tin stuck under his arm.

And there we were, old coots one and all. Thanks for coming along, now shut the damn door. It’s cold in here. Now where was I? Oh yes. I was wearing an onion on my belt, which was the fashion at the time, when all of a sudden J.G. Rockefeller…

P.S. Old coot Dave declined to join the party, citing it’s depressing effects, but if he ever wants to come to the party late, I saved some boiled sweets and a tartan rug for him. Just saying, you know, in case.