First things first. For those of you who may not have read any of my earlier Reflections (really?), let me introduce myself: I’m a very senior American woman, retired, fairly intelligent, who enjoys writing about her life experiences and observations on the world’s foibles. I consider myself somewhere in the middle of the liberal-conservative spectrum, open-minded, accepting of the views of others and of most contemporary trends (with the notable exception of adding cilantro to every dish), and respectful of the rights of all individuals to their own opinions and points of view.

But . . .

Well, no one’s perfect, myself included . . . so yes, there is a “but.” A few of them, actually. There are some things today — let’s call them trends — that I just don’t get and doubt I ever will. Nothing to do with politics, ethnicity, or gender identification — those are way too heavy for this blog. I’m talking about the little stuff. Like ripped jeans. I don’t think they’re the work of the devil; I just don’t get them.

As though the price of jeans weren’t already ridiculous enough, some genius (“jean-ius”?) got the brilliant idea that thoroughly destroying them before offering them for sale to a gullible public might become a “thing.” And because of the extra labor involved in ripping them to shreds, they could be sold for way more Dollars, or Euros, or Yen than the perfect ones. Well, why not? They’re only going to appeal to young people anyway, and we already know how stupid today’s kids are! So let’s go for it. Or so the genius reasoned.

And succeed they did. “But why?” — I ask myself. Decades ago, when I too was young and stupid, wearing shredded garments would have gotten you picked up for vagrancy. That’s if your parents had let you out of the house looking derelict in the first place. Or if they hadn’t grounded you for destroying the clothes they’d worked so hard to pay for. And when an old pair of jeans finally did develop holes or rips from long years of wear, they were either patched or cut off to enable them to enjoy a second life as shorts of varying lengths, from Bermudas to the most revealing Daisy Maes. But they weren’t ever worn with the rips or knee holes on display. So what brought about the change?

Actually, when I think about it, the answer turns out to be quite simple: it’s the eternal urge of the young to be different from their parents’ generation — to express themselves, usually in as shocking a manner as possible. Like the purple hair and rock music of the ‘60s. Remember “sex, drugs and rock-n-roll”? Or, going even farther back to my parents’ generation, they had jazz, and the Charleston, and flappers in short skirts with rolled-down stockings, bobbed haircuts, and bootleg liquor. Shocking, right? (Somebody please stop me, before I break into a chorus of Cole Porter’s Anything Goes.)

So, I guess I do get it after all: it’s a generational thing. What a relief!

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But that was an easy one. Fashions change, and people’s tastes change along with them. But what about our literal sense of taste? I mentioned cilantro earlier, because that’s something I really don’t understand. I had never even heard of it until a few years ago, when it suddenly became de rigueur for every cuisine on all sides of every ocean. And now it’s everywhere, except perhaps in tiramisu, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find some pastry chef even trying to pass that off as a dessert of his own creation.

I read an article recently that tried to explain people’s reactions to this strange herb, and I found verification of my own reaction: that it tastes like . . . soap. Yes, I said soap. It even smells like soap. I thought at first that I was crazy, but it seems — according to that writer — that a substantial percentage of people have that same chemical reaction to it, while many others think it’s delicious. So it’s not a question of preference; it’s an actual chemical thing. Whew! But that being the case, I don’t understand why it’s so prevalent in recipes — though at least there you can simply omit it — but also why restaurants don’t offer an option of “no cilantro” . . . much like the old “no MSG” thing. Something to consider.

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Next subject: Have you noticed that we have an entire generation, or possibly two, of young people who don’t know how to write? I mean actually write — in cursive, or script, or whatever you want to call it. They’re taught in school to print, and that’s supposed to be enough. Even an official signature today may be nothing more than a bunch of printed letters squished together. “What’s wrong with that?” — you ask. “It’s easier to read than some people’s handwriting.” Well, I’ll tell you (as if there were any doubt that I might). First, from a perfectly practical point of view, it’s slower. And from an aesthetic slant (pun intended), script is prettier . . . with the possible exception of a doctor’s handwritten prescription.

But let’s think outside the box for a moment. If a student today were asked to read a copy of the original Declaration of Independence . . . could they? Not likely — because it’s written in cursive! And ditto the U.S. Constitution, the Gettysburg Address, the works of Shakespeare, and every other major historical English-language document known to man. Even the Magna Carta, while written in Latin rather than English, is in cursive Latin. In my humble opinion — or, in today’s abbreviated language, IMHO (another pet peeve) — if it was good enough for Abe Lincoln, it should be good enough for today’s kids. (But not so for his big stovepipe hat; some things deserve to become extinct.)

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What’s that you say? You take exception to my issue with acronyms? I’m not surprised. But let me explain. I get the whole need to “keep it brief” in emails and texts. IMO, that’s OK. It’s not even a new idea; I recall, as a young girl, writing SWAK (sealed with a kiss) on the back flap of greeting card envelopes. But, as with so many trends, this one is being overdone and showing up in places it doesn’t belong, like business memos and correspondence, and even news reporting. BTW, IDK who decided to add numerals, probably J4F, but to them I say: KISS. And B4 it’s time to say TTFN, I have one more acronym to throw in, that I just made up out of desperation: ITOFTS. That’s right: I’m too old for this s**t.

NFC (No further comment), 😉

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And while we’re on the subject of the massacre of the English language . . . be forewarned. This is a favorite subject of mine, and one with which I have been known to drive people out of the room, if not out of their minds. So, please LMK if it becomes TLTR. :-))

Let’s start with pronouns: subjective vs. objective. It’s so simple, really. “I,” “he,” “she,” “they” and “we” are the subjects of sentences or clauses, whereas “me,” “him,” “her,” “them” and “us” are the objects of verbs or prepositions. You wouldn’t say “Him gave the book to I,” or “Me told she to eat her dinner.” You know better than that. So why is it suddenly considered all right to change the rules when talking about more than one person? For example: “Me and him went to the movies last night.” No, us did no such thing!!! In fact, he and I went to the movies. (And BTW, you always name the other person first — not “I and John,” but “John and I.” Just FYI.)

Then there’s the whole Pandora’s box of adjectives vs. adverbs. This one is trickier. I was taught that an adjective modifies a noun or pronoun, whereas an adverb modifies an adjective, a verb, or another adverb. Not to beat a dead horse, let me just give you an example of the one that really sets my teeth on edge: “The party was so fun.” No! No! No! No! “Fun” is a noun, and “so” is an adverb, so you can’t . . . Oh, what the hell! I’m never going to change a whole generation of English-killers anyway, so I may just as well call it quits and accept the fact that “her and him” have “I” beat, and my life will just be “so misery” from now on. IGU.

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Next: too many tattoos. Painful . . . and just plain ugly. And what happens to them when you get older and your skin inevitably begins to sag? Come to think of it, the entertainment value of that picture just might be worth the initial pain. But I still don’t get it.

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There are also some modern takes on familiar foods that I just don’t get. Like avocado toast. Don’t misunderstand — I love avocados. I love them in salads, guacamole, even as a garnish on a juicy burger or a tuna salad sandwich. But just sliced or mashed and laid out on a piece of toast doesn’t work for me, especially for breakfast. At least drop a fried egg on it, will you?

Then there’s the whole bacon obsession. I now live in the U.S. South, where a favorite mantra is: “You can never have too much bacon.” Now, I like bacon as much as the next guy, despite the fat, nitrites, and sodium overload. I also agree that it adds a nice salty touch to other savory foods, like shrimp and scallops, or potatoes and pasta. But what’s with the addition of bacon to desserts? I’ve seen recipes for bacon apple pie, bacon brownies, and even bacon chocolate chip cookies. I just don’t get it. Maybe it’s a death wish that some people have — if the sugar doesn’t kill you, the nitrites will. Is that it?

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But there’s one trend that totally blows my mind, and has nothing to do with food or taste buds — and I can only assume it’s because I was born one generation too soon: Fantasy games. Especially violent ones, which they all seem to be.

Perfect example: Dungeons and Dragons. My family is totally into it; in fact, they have friends over every weekend for a D&D session. They’ve invited me to join, but when they tried to explain the game to me, my mind simply shut down. They might as well have been describing Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, or the meaning of Richard Wagner’s Gotterdammerung. See what I mean? Absolutely nothing pierced my brain. I did say, though, that if I were ever to jump in and try to play, I wanted my character to be . . . ready for this one? . . . the Whore of Babylon. She is described in the New Testament (Revelation 17) as “Babylon, Mother of Harlots and Abominations of the Earth.” I don’t know why, but that’s a character that has always fascinated me. So I guess maybe I do have a dark side after all.

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I suppose what it all boils down to, as I said earlier, is a purely human difference in tastes and interests. I’m absolutely certain there are a lot of people out there who think I’m strange for eating my grilled cheese sandwiches dipped in sour cream (try it — it’s delicious), or being such a stickler for proper grammar, or staying up until 3 a.m. to write these blog posts and then sleeping until noon. But that’s okay — I don’t tell you how to eat your grits, do I?

Just sayin’.

TTFN,
Brendochka
7/20/23