I get up this morning to indulge in my usual Caffotine ritual and figure out how the rest of my day is going to flow. As I am returning to the house contemplating what kind of figure I cut fully dressed but wearing chancletas, I see an image that gives me a slight pause. A young woman is walking down the street with her beau and she's holding on to his pinkie. That's right, they weren't holding hands but she's had a firm grip on his littlest digit (good thing I said it was his pinkie, wouldn't want you guys to think she was walking in the street holding his...). Where is this going you ask?
Friday night I was having a war meeting at my partner Neff's house, plotting the next steps our company, MsFortune.net, would be taking when we paused to fill our bellies. While Neff did grandoise things in the kitchen, I dumbed down just a tad by reading Confessions of a Video Vixen. It took 45 minutes for Neff to rock the quickie meal and by the time she handed me my plate o' fixins, I was 2 chapters away from the end of the, ahem, book.
I'm not going to go into the whole book review thing because I cannot deal with the idea of trying to debate the worth of this tripe with anyone, but one thing did stand out. Having fellated (and probably much more) Ice T, this young lady was told by the Pimpextrodinaire that (paraphrasing) she should never hold a man's whole hand, rather she should grasp the pinkie to show him that she doesn't want all of him, she just wants a piece. My thought after reading that? "What the fuck?!" But I let it go because, well damn, because I had no business reading this tour-de-force of American literature in the first place.
Imagine my queasy sense of dejafrickevu to see the thought in action. First I wondered if they too had read the book: judging by the look of the two it was highly likely. Then I thought that if they hadn't, maybe there was a movement going on that I wasn't aware of... Either way I vowed that if a man that I am rollicking in bed with ever presents me his pinkie while we stroll, I'm gonna BREAK IT.
On another note, for this seemed to be the morning for completely random observations, does getting older mean you lose more of your capabilities? I mean, Alzheimers is a threat to seniors, but do your braincells begin to deteriorate long before your 50th birthday?
Remember when you were a kid, your mom let you have keys to the crib at say maybe 8 years old or so? It was the norm for most parents to do, since mom and dad (were he around) were generally at work when you gout out of school. You were to come "straight home after school" they admonished before handing you the keys on a lanyard. The Key-on-a-rope was to be hung around your neck as a means to keep you from losing them and keep your mother from having to wear your ass out before replacing the locks. You were officially a Latchkey Kid. You could tell the other Latchkey's by the lanyard sticking out of their collars as they sat in front of you during penmanship. Lanyards came in all sorts of vibrant colors and styles but they still marked you as a child that returned to an empty house until at least 6:00 pm each evening. When you grew up and moved into your own dorm/share/apartment, you graduated from that tiresome lanyard to spiffy little keychains and fobs. You were an adult, no?
I had to house-sit for my mom this weekend as she went off on one of her normal jaunts to Europe. Having decided that a weekend trip to London/Paris is what she needed to unwind, I was left to hold down the fort. She handed me the keys... on a lanyard. I quizzically asked her why, oh in heavens name why, were her keys on a string and she promptly replied, "so that I won't lose them." Hmmm...
It wouldn't have struck me as odd if months before I hadn't asked Mr. McGruff why in the hell he had his keys on twine. His reply? "So that I won't lose them..." That statement was backed up by his mother weeks later, who, when I said, "you do know your grown man of a son carries his keys around his neck?" heard the response, "girl, do you want him to have keys?"
He's 37, my mom is 52. Somewhere in there they lost the ability to locate their keys and reverted to childhood. How many years before I have chafe marks around my neck from becoming a Latchkey Adult?
Friday night I was having a war meeting at my partner Neff's house, plotting the next steps our company, MsFortune.net, would be taking when we paused to fill our bellies. While Neff did grandoise things in the kitchen, I dumbed down just a tad by reading Confessions of a Video Vixen. It took 45 minutes for Neff to rock the quickie meal and by the time she handed me my plate o' fixins, I was 2 chapters away from the end of the, ahem, book.
I'm not going to go into the whole book review thing because I cannot deal with the idea of trying to debate the worth of this tripe with anyone, but one thing did stand out. Having fellated (and probably much more) Ice T, this young lady was told by the Pimpextrodinaire that (paraphrasing) she should never hold a man's whole hand, rather she should grasp the pinkie to show him that she doesn't want all of him, she just wants a piece. My thought after reading that? "What the fuck?!" But I let it go because, well damn, because I had no business reading this tour-de-force of American literature in the first place.
Imagine my queasy sense of dejafrickevu to see the thought in action. First I wondered if they too had read the book: judging by the look of the two it was highly likely. Then I thought that if they hadn't, maybe there was a movement going on that I wasn't aware of... Either way I vowed that if a man that I am rollicking in bed with ever presents me his pinkie while we stroll, I'm gonna BREAK IT.
On another note, for this seemed to be the morning for completely random observations, does getting older mean you lose more of your capabilities? I mean, Alzheimers is a threat to seniors, but do your braincells begin to deteriorate long before your 50th birthday?
Remember when you were a kid, your mom let you have keys to the crib at say maybe 8 years old or so? It was the norm for most parents to do, since mom and dad (were he around) were generally at work when you gout out of school. You were to come "straight home after school" they admonished before handing you the keys on a lanyard. The Key-on-a-rope was to be hung around your neck as a means to keep you from losing them and keep your mother from having to wear your ass out before replacing the locks. You were officially a Latchkey Kid. You could tell the other Latchkey's by the lanyard sticking out of their collars as they sat in front of you during penmanship. Lanyards came in all sorts of vibrant colors and styles but they still marked you as a child that returned to an empty house until at least 6:00 pm each evening. When you grew up and moved into your own dorm/share/apartment, you graduated from that tiresome lanyard to spiffy little keychains and fobs. You were an adult, no?
I had to house-sit for my mom this weekend as she went off on one of her normal jaunts to Europe. Having decided that a weekend trip to London/Paris is what she needed to unwind, I was left to hold down the fort. She handed me the keys... on a lanyard. I quizzically asked her why, oh in heavens name why, were her keys on a string and she promptly replied, "so that I won't lose them." Hmmm...
It wouldn't have struck me as odd if months before I hadn't asked Mr. McGruff why in the hell he had his keys on twine. His reply? "So that I won't lose them..." That statement was backed up by his mother weeks later, who, when I said, "you do know your grown man of a son carries his keys around his neck?" heard the response, "girl, do you want him to have keys?"
He's 37, my mom is 52. Somewhere in there they lost the ability to locate their keys and reverted to childhood. How many years before I have chafe marks around my neck from becoming a Latchkey Adult?
1 comment:
Very poignant observations... I was fortunate enough not to be a latchkey kid myself, although that came with it's own set of problems and fears...
As for the pinkie thing...WTF?? As a gay man I'd give anything to walk down the street holding my man's hand...ENTIRE hand...
Post a Comment