Them krazy kids! What’ll they think of next?
I had a reel-to-reel tape recorder when I was a kid.
No, that was a lie. I didn’t.
(why did I say that?)
But my father had one and the four of us kids used to take out the microphones and amuse ourselves for hours at it. Years later, still before it self-destructed…
(0kay, not “self” -destructed — multiple sticky handlings and excessive reuse is not easy on the medium, not too mention uses for which it was never intended)
… you could hear some stuff that Everyone reminded me of. And now that I have my own wee tots (who similarly abuse my various technological marvels) I am doubly right there with Mr Gutierrez and his band of marauding avengers.
or parading extenders
or ecstatic pretenders
(You know, this medium here, this newfangled “blog”-thing is just a magnet for self-indulgence.)
So I’ll try to keep this short and sweet. When someone says “childlike” to me I bristle. The short hairs go into rigor mortis. Usually they mean sweet, innocent, naive, or (more charitably) short. But real kids, at least kids like mine (for which the term “real kids” was invented, I kid you not – there’s a patent) — real kids(TM), I was saying, are not like that — except the short part. They are inventive, perceptive, crazy, alternately fascinating and deadly dull, beautiful and disgusting, and so completely without maturity, but of course that’s why they’re kids: you don’t want that in a kid.
Everyone was sort of like that, but not exactly.
Things I plan to come back to:
Staging, build, surprise, movement, smooches, belonging, music, the beauty of resistance and resistance to beauty, indulgence against self-indulgence, and the eternal burning overlayered question: Don’t You Want Me Baby?
Now back to the taxes…