Skip to main content

'Trodes


On a warm afternoon not unlike this one, I sat outside on a grass quad and listened to conversation between two middle aged men. Their appearance would suggest they had dropped out of the 9-5 world of gainful employment in favor of barely getting by; they were content nonetheless.
Young people today would call them Hippies, or wanna-be Hippies, but back then they were just two individuals who dared to stop cutting their hair every few weeks, informed themselves about the political realities of the day, and tried to live by another set of values with the express purpose of seeing if it could be done.
This day they marveled at their appearance as well as every other long-haired, multi-colored wearing person on the grassy expanse. Boots and bell-bottoms were in. Horn-rimed eyeglasses gave way to rimless or wire rimed. Blue work shirts, Levis, headbands, and flowers were everywhere. People wore their politics.
As these two comfortable counter-culture participants sat waiting for the next speaker to take the free speech platform on the UCLA campus, they began discussing what the children of the future might do to express their own cultural identity 30 or 40 years hence.
"They'll probably say, mom, dad, I'm gonna get electrodes implanted in my head, just like all my friends," said one to another. His friend replied, "Yeah, they'll probably listen to their music that way."
It has happened yet, but stick around. These two crystal ball gazers weren't too far off. They never considered the popularity of tattoos or body piercing; yet they may have been in the ballpark after all. People do wear their music and from where I sit, things are headed toward one big electronic switchboard, be it hand-held or internally placed.
I wonder about the next phase of tattoos. I'm guessing we'll able to change them on a whim some day. Maybe through the electrodes in our heads.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

To a Tee

 I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt.  They are the foundational garment of my life.  My day starts with selecting a t-shirt and it ends with sleeping in one.  Once thought of as under garments, t-shirts are now original art and no doubt, a billion dollar business.   You can get a t-shirt with anybody's picture displayed.  You can commemorate an event, a birthday, a death, even a specular play in any sport.  Family reunions usually have a commemorative t-shirt.  Also, any organization that solicits your support in the form of a donation is likely to offer you a t-shirt. Where once I only had the basic white t-shirt, my drawers are filled with all manner of colorful choices.  Some recognize major events in my life, some, spectacular performances or plays I have witnessed, and some unforgettable places I have been.   I say I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt because I have taken the bait on what I perceived as a must-have only to be disappointed. ...

Illusory

What does it take to enrage you?  That moment when your words fly on pure emotion because enough is enough.  Is it a driver that cuts you off at high speed?  What about being an eyewitness to blatant racism or on the receiving end of some obvious injustice? I know some people who never express rage.  I admire them but know full well I am not capable of such distance from that which would bring about such a strong response. Another senseless shooting and 7 people die at the hands of a mentally ill gun owner.  The father of the 20 year old college student lets it fly and somehow millions feel a new sense of relief.  He calls the politicians bastards who do nothing, he wears his pain in public.  The news media responds but we all know that nothing is going to change.  We are the gun country.  We are the place where anybody, anytime, can be cut down just for being there when somebody else snaps. Usually the perpetrators are delusional. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...