When I was frozen, giant carrots ruled the Earth. Now they don't. It takes some getting used to.
I came across the Lego corporate site today and found a program you can download to design your own Lego set, and then buy it. I'll let that sink in.
...
The first thought that drifted through my consciousness--once my childhood nostalgia had gathered its jaw from the floor and gotten rid of the flies--was, "man, these kids today don't know how good they have it."
As often happens, another thought followed that one, and so on, until I was contemplating in intimate detail future conversations with my hypothetical male heir. As much as I'd like to believe that we'll be able to rap about things we can both relate to, I realize that technology is moving so fast that by the time my clone has reached puberty we'll be farther apart than my father and I are now; and my father was getting married and mashing zygotes around my age.
Just as dad, in his least perceptive moments, will regale me with stories of tiny TVs with knobs, and using a stick to push a hoop down a dirt road, so shall I relate mind-numbingly uninteresting tales of life in the way-back-when. A kid in the World of Tomorrow will never understand a concept like the fact that MTV (which will by then be a 24 hour VR porn/news network) was once the primary purveyor a long extinct, two-sense-stimulant called a music video. Instead, 3-D representations of pop divas will be grinding against him in the holodeck while I try to tell him about things like dialup.
"Man, when we finally got broadband, it put that phone line stuff to shame. We might as well have been using two cans tied together with string! Ha, ha, ha."
Except that I'll seem like a crazy old man because he won't even know what the fuck a landline phone is. Of course, I'll continue, oblivious, muttering something incoherent about how the first mp3 I ever owned was Regulators by Warren G (considered classical music in the year 2035). By that time he'll have cranked up his earlobe volume control to drown me out while he drives off in his souped up briefcase hovercar.
Goddamn as-yet-nonexistent-kids.
...
The first thought that drifted through my consciousness--once my childhood nostalgia had gathered its jaw from the floor and gotten rid of the flies--was, "man, these kids today don't know how good they have it."
As often happens, another thought followed that one, and so on, until I was contemplating in intimate detail future conversations with my hypothetical male heir. As much as I'd like to believe that we'll be able to rap about things we can both relate to, I realize that technology is moving so fast that by the time my clone has reached puberty we'll be farther apart than my father and I are now; and my father was getting married and mashing zygotes around my age.
Just as dad, in his least perceptive moments, will regale me with stories of tiny TVs with knobs, and using a stick to push a hoop down a dirt road, so shall I relate mind-numbingly uninteresting tales of life in the way-back-when. A kid in the World of Tomorrow will never understand a concept like the fact that MTV (which will by then be a 24 hour VR porn/news network) was once the primary purveyor a long extinct, two-sense-stimulant called a music video. Instead, 3-D representations of pop divas will be grinding against him in the holodeck while I try to tell him about things like dialup.
"Man, when we finally got broadband, it put that phone line stuff to shame. We might as well have been using two cans tied together with string! Ha, ha, ha."
Except that I'll seem like a crazy old man because he won't even know what the fuck a landline phone is. Of course, I'll continue, oblivious, muttering something incoherent about how the first mp3 I ever owned was Regulators by Warren G (considered classical music in the year 2035). By that time he'll have cranked up his earlobe volume control to drown me out while he drives off in his souped up briefcase hovercar.
Goddamn as-yet-nonexistent-kids.