I usually pride myself on knowing, at least in a dim and rudimentary sense, about pop culture. True, the strength of my knowledge lies in the John Hughes era, but I am at least somewhat familiar with what's hot, enough that I could be filled with equal parts despair and amusement while trying to explain to my mother on the phone what a Wii is, and how its different from the last video gaming system she purchased and was familiar with (an Atari 2600).
Another gibbet of evidence that I'm creeping toward middle age (other than last week, when I bought birth control pills AND reading glasses at Walmart on the same day) is that I'm starting to let things go by. Things I realize I don't get and I'm okay with not getting.
In junior high I got together with a bunch of guys every other Friday night or so for a game. We all had our own dice, we all had folders full of sheets with our characters written out by hand in pencil. We sat together 'IRL' at a table, and a guy with a huge binder sat behind a trifold paper castle wall and determined our fate as we moved painstakingly painted lead figurines around on a piece of grid paper. We talked, ate Cheetos, and laughed our butts off. No one had seizures from playing 24 hours straight without sleep or food, though at least one bad movie was made about people taking it too far. By age 15, when we discovered things like extracurricular activities and the opposite sex, roleplaying tapered off sharply, with the exception of one live RPG excursion that ended in, as my doctor put it, 'The single worst case of poison oak he's ever seen" plus various minor blunt force and Ronsonol misfire injuries. (Hint: never run with a tiki torch.)
Today my Gmail ad du jour was from this company. Apparently, I can get a t-shirt with my 'Guild Tabard' on it. So when you do finally pry your ass out of the chair and grab a Big Gulp and a microwaved burrito, everyone can see what realm battlegroup and faction you belong to. Also: why your virginity is safe and secure.
I didn't get it the first time, either. Did we have to start it all over again because Anne Rice found Jesus? (Be glad she did. Some of her pseudonymous stuff was, yikes. Just, yikes.)
3. Compulsive text messaging
Yeah, I use it. Mostly when I'm someplace too noisy to talk, and only when I have to tell Himself I'm on my way home. My one attempt to drunk text while at a friend's going away party ended in three very unintelligible and never sent messages that all started 'Hey bebby...' Which is probably why the party ended with breakfast at McDonald's at 7am. But is there really any reason why a guy has to stand around with a phone in his pocket that declaims "Apple bottom jeans and the boots WITH THE FUR" every twelve seconds? Does texting make you seem LESS like a 14 year old girl than just PICKING UP THE DAMN THING and talking to whoever it is that keeps sending you cryptic mini-missives that subject the rest of the free world to your questionable taste in music?
I keep seeing girls in these sweatshirts that are basically a hood, sleeves, and about 8 inches of body, with a zipper that starts somewhere in the ziphoid process region. I beg anyone with mercy and sense to explain to me what the heck the point of this is, beyond making you look like you raided a toddler's closet.
5. The Hills
Is it a reality show? Is it a drama? Are there any other people in the world more in need of a savage kicking?
6. The Jonas Brothers
Methinks we've been here before. Let's see....
Or these guys, who disabled embedding so you'll just have to click on through to the otha side for all the hair-swinging goodness.
Look, I remember coveting my sister's Tiger Beat with Shaun Cassidy on the cover. I know from tweeny lust. But I look at these guys and all I see are the charter members of my high school Latin Club.
Hey, do a girl a favor and vote for me over to Humor Blogs, eh? While my husband hobnobs with the blogging elite I'm about five scrolls down the page. Its embarassing and precipitates haughty lectures from him about how I need to update my template and otherwise pimp myself out. I don't care if he's right. Its still annoying.