Nothing makes me feel older than talking to college students. They’re all full sized and adult-y, but you have almost nothing in common.
Your favorite bands from college are “oldies” to them, if they’ve even heard of those bands. Every advance in tech you thought was all Jetsons-awesome ten years ago is, like, totally lame to them.
My friend was at work talking to an intern and mentioned the band The Police. The intern had never heard them. Never heard of The Police. What are public schools teaching these kids?
|Sting will not be ignored.|
The young man eventually decided he knew who Sting was, but only because of jokes about Tantric s@x. Do not google that. The wikipedia article is safe, if inscrutable. Inscrutable. Hee hee.
My own adult son tells me he likes the “classics”, like the Dave Matthews Band and Nirvana. He does that on purpose.
That same son always remarks about tech he sees in movies from ten or fifteen years ago. “Look at the size of that computer monitor. Is that from the Paleolithic era? It doesn’t have a mouse, it has a rock on a string.”
I thought he’d pee his pants laughing at the sight of Michael Douglas’ enormous cell phone in the movie Wall Street.
|Can you hear me now?|
A few years ago I learned this generation gap is an international one. I was able to go with my husband on a business trip to England (they call me Nota Supermum).
We toured the British Library where we saw the Magna Carta, Beatles lyrics scribbled on an envelope, and a book handwritten and illustrated by a teenage Jane Austen (who probably thought quill pens were totally eighteenth century).
It was a wonderful tour that ended up, as ever, in the gift shop. Besides reproductions of exhibits, the shop carried kitschy stuff from the late-twentieth century, like Rubik’s cubes.
I was curious about a small cardboard box by the register filled with 3 1/2 inch floppy disks, marked for sale at one pound each. These hardly seemed retro to me, since I had used them lots in college, less than ten years before. I still had plenty in our home office. Just in case I ever need an amortization schedule on my Amiga.
|The evolution of data storage media.|
I asked the young clerk “What is this for?”
He said in a charming English accent “Erm, that’s a data storage device.”
“Uhh,” I said intelligently, “for what purpose are you selling this?”
“It’s a coaster.”
My iced tea is resting on my 1996 accounting homework right now.