An interesting article here (via unfogged.com) by Meghan O'Rourke at Slate.com.
The new generation of "college kids" is now the "hooking up generation". Really not much different from my early 90's campus life. And as O'Rourke so keenly puts it.
From at least the 1920s (when everyone thought flappers were destroying manners) on through the 1980s (when teen pregnancy rates had everyone alarmed), girls have been hearing that their sex lives are the symbol of generational decadence.
I wouldn't hesitate to suggest that this commodius vicus of recirculation originates way earlier than that.
What has happened in the last month or so? Britney now has no hair*, Bobby Skinstad has a mohawk and a bit of game time for the Sharks, & Harry Potter has no kit on at all.
I am however, just the same as ever - just severely distracted by the pressing need to get some clarity of where and how things stand in my company.
5 months ago I was battling Johannesburg traffic and peddling my dubious skills by the hour for my global master, all work subject to rigorous review. Now, gone is the timekeeping and traffic but I remain under the thumb of a hard task master - all manner of skills being drawn on - a one man, most of the company buck stops at me kind of role. Hiring, retrenching, buying, selling, bargaining, budgeting and unpacking the level of risk that my messy forefathers in this organization left for me. Scorpions under every rock that I dare upend and a flood of cash flowing through a hole somewhere that I have to find before I can plug.
My previous post refers: do I really have any choice at this? Am I predetermined to slave away at my desk, delicately squeezing in what little leisure and family time I can afford to. Could I really tell my boss to bugger off, I'll finish the budget when I have the time. No, hell no. I have no choice. To blog or not blog? I have no choice. I do it when I can. I can only do it when my brain lines up the signals in the right way and lets me do it. A mere treadmill, but one worth deceiving oneself that we have a choice whether to make the most of it or not.
And this children's book furore is a whole lot of balls.
"Scrotum sounded to Lucky like something green that comes up when you have the flu and cough too much," the book continues. "It sounded medical and secret, but also important."
"The word is just so delicious," Ms. Patron said. "The sound of the word to Lucky is so evocative. It's one of those words that's so interesting because of the sound of the
word."
No promises (I have no choice, remember) but hope to back a bit more regularly from here on in.
* check out the bald memorabilia on eBay. Many quick to the bandwagon offering shaved dolls - It's a hoot.
+ as an even more circuitous aside - I arrived at unfogged via the unablogger (who has sadly slowed up his cheesecake delivery to an erratic trickle). Strange being, this internet thing.
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