Honestly, I never thought I’d get old enough to become a fuddy-duddy. But that surely seems to have come to pass.
Yes: the age in which everything stylish, au courant, and “hot” seems foolish, silly, redundant, or downright obnoxious.
Here I am at an uptown coffeehouse, waiting to meet another blogger who happens to lurk in the Valley. Should be interesting.
It’s a young upwardly mobile hangout, the parking lot always jammed. The place is littered with young males glued to their Apples, alone in their private worlds. The Muzak is so loud you’d have to shout to make yourself heard, but that doesn’t matter because it’s one of those hard-walled, hard-floored, hard-ceilinged spaces that reverberates, so that when enough people occupy it (more than three, maybe?), you have to shout to make yourself heard above the racket of their conversation.
So far, I have yet to grasp the charm of these venues.
And I’m out of synch with these young things, even though I’m sitting here glued to my own Apple, plugged into my own private world. This may create the illusion that I’m the real thing, but…who would guess I have no smartphone? Who would guess I have no desire for a smartphone?
A few middle-aged folk come and go, mostly male. A guy in hospital scrubs. Another with a “boldly go where no one else…” look about him.
But the bulk of the clientele?
Fine young men. Brave young women. Lovely creatures of another world.