A few months ago, in the first of this occasional series of posts, I speculated about the fact that wisdom came with age. Now I’m sure that this is very much the case with some people. Moreover, I have no doubt that all of us get wiser in some aspect, as the years tick by. However, as comforting as that might be, there are still too many things that I can’t really figure out. And I get the impression that this will continue to happen. I mean, I’ve got a blog to write…
I’ll start with an example that I cited early on in my first blog on this subject. I just don’t understand the categorisation of celebrities these days. When I was growing up there seemed to be only the two levels of celebrity; A-List (proper celebrities, big names, superstars of stage and screen, if you like) and everyone else. So you might have *showing his age alert* people like Bruce Forsyth, Michael Parkinson, Cilla Black, Morecombe and Wise, Bob Monkhouse and The Two Ronnies, amongst others in the A-List. Sinatra, Elvis, De Niro, etc would be in the American equivalent. We all knew they were stars. They proved it by drawing audiences of untold millions to whatever they appeared in and besides that, they just looked like and behaved like stars. And then in the everyone else category you had people who, although they didn’t have the elusive star quality of the A-List, had talent. They were good at something and that made them famous. One hit wonders were gone in a second.
‘…the saddest thing of all is that very few of them appear to have a modicum of talent.’
Nowadays this has changed. The goalposts have moved and I just don’t understand. Not only do we have A, B, C and D-List celebrities, we have Z-List ones too! And the saddest thing of all is that very few of them appear to have a modicum of talent. It appears that nowadays you can climb the celebrity ladder and make millions without really having any star quality at all. Sadly this doesn’t seem to stretch to people who write occasional blogs about the type of random garbage that pops into their heads on a daily basis. But I’m not bitter. Honest.
Reality TV ‘stars’, YouTubers, Vloggers, Instagrammers; it’s ridiculous. Most seem to be as thick as mince and in possession of the kind of personality that wouldn’t have got them a conversation, let alone a TV series twenty years ago. I wouldn’t recognise KSI in a KSI identity parade and yet a trip to Google reveals that he has 10.5 million subscribers to his YouTube channel, which has had almost 2 billion views. And what does he do? Commentate on himself playing video games. This. Is. Beyond. My. Comprehension.
But KSI is decidedly small-time. The most popular YouTube ‘star’ is PewDiePie – great name by the way; really showcases your talent – who does the same thing but has had over 39 million subscribers and over 10 billion views. Apparently he shouts a lot. And swears a bit. Talented lad then. Clearly intelligence is becoming a thing of the past.
‘No discernible talent on show, but she’s ‘fabulous’, apparently.’
And then we have the ‘stars’ of Reality TV. People like Gemma Collins, who seems to be more famous for talking about herself than anything. A woman who appears unprofessional at all times. And a woman who describes herself as things like ‘fabulous’ and a ‘diva’. A woman, who, as the old saying goes would eat herself if she were chocolate. If she could fit anymore in, that is. No discernible talent on show, but she’s ‘fabulous’, apparently.
I’m sorry. These people are not for me. I was brought up in an era where celebrities seemed like beings from another planet almost. Now, they’re just famous for being people. And what’s the point in that? I’m meant to be at some sort of wise old (middle) age, but sorry, I just don’t understand.
Closely linked to the current crop of Z-list celebrities is a creature called Cardi B, who the kids seem to dig these days. And yes, that’s right, I did just do a bit of youth-speak back there.
‘Again, no real hard work involved then.’
Cardi – I can’t actually confirm that her stage name is short for cardigan – appears to be some type of singer/rapper. From what I gather she became famous off the back of some videos posted to Instagram. Again, no real hard work involved then. I can’t confess to know too much, as I’ve barely heard a note she’s ever uttered. I find it quite difficult to get past her stupid name. I mean, Cardigan is a ridiculous name, unless you’re actually a piece of knitwear and B is clearly not her real surname. I bet that’s not what it says on her Nectar card.
To my knowledge, the one and only time I’ve encountered Ms B was via a video posted on Twitter. I can’t remember what she was railing against because I was so taken aback at the amount of foul language. Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than capable of a well-timed F-Bomb and not easily offended, especially by words. I’m a mother-flippin’ broad church, guys. I’m from the street. However, as someone who should be some kind of role model to people like my 12-year-old daughter, who worships Cardigan, she did not convey her message well. I have little doubt that her music will be the kind of dirge that seems to be on permanent it-all-sounds-the-same rotation on commercial radio, as well.
Now I realise I’m mere syllables away from sounding like my dad telling me he couldn’t even tell what they’re singing in the 90s, but Cardigan and her peers are a puzzle to me and I don’t really understand what it is they offer to the world. Maybe her siblings Tank-Top and Roll-Neck could explain.
Modern driving is another thing that I can’t get my head around. It would seem that while the test has got more strict, people’s habits when they’re actually driving have just got worse and worse.
‘A golden age of motoring it would seem.’
I learnt to drive in a time when the two broken lines across the end of a road before you got onto another road meant ‘Give Way’. Stop before you pull out and have a look to see if anyone else is coming along the road because if you just pull out, the person who’s already on the road may have to break sharply in order to avoid you. Simpler times. A golden age of motoring it would seem.
I’m also old enough to remember when you had to give way – there’s that alien phrase again – to the traffic coming from the right of you on a roundabout.
It would seem that it’s all changed. Every day on my commute to or from work at least one car will pull out of a junction pretty much right in front of me. And guess what? I’m the one left to break sharply in order to avoid their shocking version of driving. What winds me up even more about this is that the person will then inevitably stay on the road for about 200 yards before turning off onto another street. So their journey is so important that they risked a crash rather than wait a few seconds in order to pull out safely and drive along the road for a tiny distance. I didn’t realise there were so many very important people on their way to perform surgery on the roads in and out of Dewsbury. Who knew it was such a hub of life and death science that no one could afford to just stop for a moment and let a car come past?
Almost as bad are the people who, although they don’t just pull out, insist that they must edge out across the line. The theory seems to be that if they edge out far enough we’ll be duty bound to let them out. Whatever happened to waiting your turn?
‘…everyone wants to be Lewis Hamilton.’
Roundabouts are the same. Full of VIPs tearing around too busy to stop. Or undertaking round a corner because they have to get in front of you. Traffic lights seem to have the same effect. I must watch tens of drivers go through red lights every day. And why? Well who knows, but I imagine that they’re all just very, very important. Perhaps they’re on their way to see Gemma Collins or Cardigan B. Whatever it is, I don’t understand the hurry or the lack of consideration for other people’s safety. My commute is beginning to feel like something out of Mad Max and while I loved the films, I don’t want to live the lifestyle. I think I’m in danger of sounding like a grumpy old man, but then I remind myself that all I’m asking people to do is stop when it says stop and drive like there might be other people about. Instead it seems like everyone wants to be Lewis Hamilton. And Lewis Hamilton’s a tw*t.
Now, I understand the need to suspend reality a little bit every once in a while. I’ve loved the Star Wars films all my life, but I know that none of it’s even remotely real. And I watch The Walking Dead with a genuine fear, despite being safe in the knowledge that zombies don’t exist. So what is my problem with kids’ television then?
I have two children. A girl aged 12 and a boy aged 9. They both watch quite a bit of television and although the oldest is developing a penchant for programmes like Police Interceptors, a lot of what they watch is courtesy of CBBC or Nickelodeon. So they ‘inhabit’ worlds where reality is very much not key to the plot. But herein lies the bit that I just cannot understand.
Firstly, my age-earned wisdom tells me that children live with adults. Social Services are rather fond of this type of family arrangement and besides the formality of it all, it’s just kind of traditional. You know the drill. Boy meets girl, they get all fond of each other, have lots and lots of fun and lots and lots and lots of special cuddles, before they decide to make tiny humans together and then allow said tiny humans to live in their house, despite them inevitably being a massive pain in the arse and almost always the reason why the fun is harder to recover from than ever and the special cuddles slow right down. *And breathe*.
‘…there’s suspending reality and then there’s plain old bollocks.’
Anyway, where was I? Aah, yes. Children who live with adults. So, with the concept of families in mind, can anyone explain to me the phenomena in children’s TV whereby a group of kids seem to live together in an amazing house without the presence of any parents or in fact, any adults whatsoever? I mean there’s suspending reality and then there’s plain old bollocks. One of my kids’ favourites is a show called Gameshakers. I believe the phrase that describes it best is batshit crazy. Not the most literary description, but genuinely the most fitting. Watch it, you’ll see I’m right. What makes Gameshakers so batshit crazy is the concept behind it. Here we have three or four children who appear to be around the age of 10, not only living in some kind of plush apartment together but, wait for it, they also run a hugely successful company that develops games for mobile phones. A reminder; they’re about 10.
And just when Gameshakers was absurd enough for me to find myself in quite the pickle trying to believe it all, whoever makes it threw in another random fact. One of the kids does actually have a dad, who while hardly ever being present in his life, is also a famous (fictional) rapper. Because as we all know, the best rappers hang out with 10-year-olds and develop games for mobile phones in their spare time. Snoopy Dogg Dog is famous for his rapping, but what we don’t all know is that he invented ‘Snake’ for Nokia.
My lack of understanding doesn’t stop there either. In a similarly ridiculous vain we have the shows Jesse and Henry Danger. Jesse, I’ve only just found out, is nanny to three children who also have a butler…but yes, you guessed it, no parents. Now that’s not too difficult to comprehend. Until that is, you take a look at Jesse herself who looks, at most, 18. And then we’re left wondering what set of parents, who have done so well for themselves that they’re never home in their decidedly plush apartment overlooking Central Park, have employed an 18-year-old to be nanny to their three precious kids? And so, predictably, I just don’t understand.
‘It’s clearly the same kid.’
Henry Danger on the other hand simply toes the same line as other shows and films before him. However, it does this in an even more ridiculous fashion. The premise here is that Henry is just a normal kid who happens to also be a superhero. So nothing new there then. Think Superman, for instance. Henry is a high school kid who changes to a superhero when he puts on a red and blue jumpsuit and an eye mask, often appearing in the same place he’d just mysteriously disappeared from moments earlier. And herein lies my problem. It’s clearly the same kid. Literally no one should be fooled. In fact everyone should just be asking, ‘Why’s Henry dressed like that?’ At least Clark Kent had the decency – in a far more innocent age – to take his glasses off.
Despite my age, and at least a small amount of wisdom that I’ve accrued along the way, I just can’t begin to understand kids’ TV and rather than making me laugh with its many fantastical scenarios, it just makes me more and more annoyed!
The next thing that I just don’t understand might come as a surprise to some. I understand a lot about social media, simply because I use it and have done for quite a while. However, there are several aspects that just leave me wanting to crawl into a dark corner.
‘…he’s a hideous, attention seeking w**ker.’
Firstly, there’s the need to post everything. Pouting in your front room? I don’t care. Funny cat videos? Whatever. Asking if anyone remembers stuff from the 70s, 80s and 90s? No, maybe, just about. I don’t want to see what you look like before you go out – what you look like when you get in would probably be a lot funnier. Donald Trump has said WHAT? Admittedly funny at first, but not anymore. Piers Morgan said WHAT? Well, yes, of course he did. Because he’s a hideous, attention seeking w**ker. This, I can cope with though.
By the far the worst and most unfathomable part of social media is something I’ve only relatively recently discovered. Kids seem to have their own social media. A social media far removed from the miserabalism of Twitter, the nostalgia of Facebook and the…well the photos of Instagram.
I learnt about sites like ‘Musically’ and ‘Like’ via my daughter and not only was I perplexed by what I found, I was staggered by what it did to her. Now, she’s always been quite the attention seeker/drama queen, but this turned her into a monster of quite epic proportions.
The idea with such sites seems primarily to be that you film yourself miming along to a song. And with that come the inevitable actions, along with the adding of effects and editing. Now, I know, I know, I know, that it’s just a very girly thing to do and that as a result I should understand perfectly well. I mean, among those of us who are middle-aged, who hasn’t stood in front of a mirror with a hairbrush microphone before? (I’m asking for a friend, obviously). And essentially, it’s just an extension of that. Until you investigate a little bit or literally have to live with the effects.
‘I imagine it was what living with Mariah Carey would be like…’
Within weeks of downloading one of these APPs my daughter had turned into some sort of diva figure. She would constantly update you on her ‘likes’ and her ‘fans’. She’d walk around the supermarket making hand gestures, miming along to songs that weren’t playing and incessantly flicking her hair. I imagine it was what living with Mariah Carey would be like, only without the voice. She was always, always on her phone. The bedroom door would be slammed shut and she’d spend hours prancing about in there, filming herself. It was a level of ego that even I struggled to get my head around! But it was also a level of worry that I was totally uncomfortable with. This is the internet and social media; what 12-year-old really understands that? Furthermore, this 40-something didn’t understand it either. We live in an age of grooming and trolling and all manner of unthinkable things that happen online, so for a parent, the need for my daughter to want to seemingly devote her life to being some kind of mute internet pop star was utterly beyond me. Thirty second videos of someone doing the same thing over and over again, only with different music and subsequently turning into a monster with it. No thanks. Can’t 12-year-olds just be 12-year-olds again, climbing trees, larking around in fields and playing football?
My advancing years mean that I’ve witnessed many examples of the final example of things I don’t understand. The years haven’t helped. I still don’t understand it. And more to the point, it irritates the hell out of me.
Why do people insist on leaving crumbs in the butter? Or the margarine or other spreadable butter substitutes?
Currently, when opening up the Flora – other brands are available – in our house, you are inevitably confronted by patches of crumbs. The reason for this crumb infusion? Our youngest has been given a little more responsibility and is now allowed to butter his own toast. Now this can kind of be excused. His little hands haven’t quite got used to the action of dipping the knife into the spread and when he takes some out it’s usually not enough, meaning repeated visits to the tub. Hence the crumbs. My daughter does it too.
But not every house has children to blame. So why oh why do the crumbs seem to congregate in the butter? It seems so easy to avoid. And the thing is, it makes me not want to butter anything. I have to manoeuvre the knife through the spread trying to find virgin Flora and to be honest, it’s all a bit too much like hard work. But I don’t want to eat other people’s crumbs, even if I’m related to them! Surely, I’m not in a minority of people who magically makes crumbs stay on their bread?
Despite my age, I don’t understand.
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