Three random events from this past week managed to occupy a fair amount of my time and thoughts. I feel a little fortunate that they spaced themselves out so I never felt totally overwhelmed.
It started on Monday evening at the Kiosk. Although we rarely struggle for conversation topics, there was a brief lull as the three of us stood there.
"Hey, there is no longer a No Drama Lama ice cream available," Denny said.
We looked at the poster advertising ice cream bars hanging tantalizingly at kid's eye level and saw that he was right.
Over the years as we gather each Monday evening at the local Kiosk, we get to watch many people come and go, picking up cigarettes, take away beers, chewing gum, snacks, and of course, ice cream bars. Often this generates some very interesting experiences, or peculiarities, if you will. Once, a guy came up to the window and ordered 3 Heinies, an affectionate term for Heineken.
All of us found this rather amusing, and probably me most of all, since I knew the term from the playground at my elementary school. "Ha ha ha, he fell on his heinie," some kid would shout gleefully, partly because the incident was funny, but mostly because the word is just funny to say.
My German friends appreciate this concept of saying funny words, which is why last summer we got kind of curious about the No Drama Lama ice cream bars. None of us really wanted to purchase the item, but every time a kid walked up to the kiosk, we hoped that they might order one and tell us what it tasted like. At the very least, we were able to say No Drama Lama pretty regularly.
Monday evening is beer night, so no one is ever looking for a tasty treat. But, we all comment regularly on our childhood when we did look forward to any time that we got to eat ice cream. The Kiosk ice cream bar sign gives us a regular reminder of those days.
And right after we confirmed that there was no more drama or lama, we did look more closely at the Magnum ice cream bars on offer. I remarked that I was always disappointed that the picture of the ice cream bar was about 10 times bigger than what you actually got to eat.
So, I went home that night with ice cream bars on the brain. A friend of mine sometimes experiences that urgent need for ice cream, and from time to time, I go through a brief phase where I want ice cream, too.
I made a mental note to look in the freezer section of my supermarket during my next shopping run, which was planned for later in the week. It turned out to be Thursday, and so as to bring this first random incident to a close, I can report that I ate 3 Magnums on Thursday evening, and another 3 last night .
That is me done with ice cream for the next little while. The urge hit me, I addressed it, and while 3 ice cream bars in one sitting seems excessive, they were rather small.
The second incident of the week involved my mobile phone charger. My mobile has a monster battery in it; I usually have to charge once every 6 or 7 days. Sure, I am not surfing or doing much of anything that would drain the battery so quickly, but I kind of like seeing how long I can go between charges.
Last Saturday, however, I encountered a small hiccup. Suddenly, my phone was not performing like I expected it to. I ended up having to let the device charge overnight, and even then, it was not quite at a full charge. I decided to wait and see what would happen over the course of the week. I figured I would monitor the drain on the battery and determine further action.
Due to a trip to my company headquarters on Wednesday, my phone was a bit more active, as my train app sends me regular alerts during my ride. ("Hi, your train leaves in one hour!" or "Hi, you have reached your destination!") While helpful, I do not necessarily need these messages, but also am too lazy to switch off the alert.
That, combined with a brief video call with my father and grandmother on Thursday night, pretty much had my battery at 4-5% by Friday morning. I plugged my phone back into the charger, and was somewhat dismayed to see that again, the phone was not taking a charge.
I have a business trip next week, and rather than find myself with a phone that I truly cannot charge, I made a quick decision to replace the charger, since they can fail from time to time. I went online, found a suitable charger for my mobile, and placed the order with expedited shipping, so that I would receive my package this morning.
Sure enough, the DHL guy rang my doorbell at 9am this morning. I immediately plugged my phone into the new charger, and presto, 2 minutes ago (at around 11h30 in the morning), my device is fully charged.
Problem solved. It was the charger and not the phone. As I sat eating my final Magnum last evening, I wondered when the package would come, and was rather pleased that it came so early in the day.
The truly thought-provoking event of the week started Wednesday evening. I was talking to a friend of mine whose son recently developed an interest in playing guitar. A lot of teens discover music around this age, and I was immediately intrigued. I have not yet spoken with the son directly, so was asking my buddy a barrage of questions. What kind of guitar? How is he learning? Is he progressing? What kind of music is he playing?
My friend is a fellow music fan; we share very similar tastes. Over the years we have traded stories about concerts, album listening experiences (which turn into marathons), and can enthusiastically discuss music for hours on end.
When I received the answer to my question what songs is he learning, I immediately responded, "I do not like that band."
"Me neither," said my friend.
And that is where the pondering has started.
What do you do when you don't like the music that your kid is learning to play?
This sounds like a very naive question, and certainly clarifies that I am not a parent. But, I think back to my own childhood, and all the music lessons I took. Likewise, I think of all the music I have loved and listened to over the years.
My parents had their own musical tastes, and while I certainly was exposed to their favorites, I never really became a fan. Too much happened between their generation and mine, so we never really had overlapping tastes. In short, I did not like their music too much, and they sure as hell did not like my stuff, whether it be progressive rock like The Who or Yes, or the industrial electronica, the new wave, the ska, and the punk. My parents took a bit of an issue with the punk, which I guess I can understand to some degree.
The difference now is that my friend's kid is liking music and bands that my friend is very familiar with. In fact, he probably already has some of the albums, has seen the band in concert, or whatever, simply because the generations are a little more closely aligned.
My dilemma, despite the fact that it really is none of my business, is that because my own passion for music is the same as my friend, we have a tendency to express our opinions, usually in a friendly way. Back in high school I might have been a bit more aggressive when making statements like, "that band is crap," or "I hate that album." Over the years, I toned that down a bit, so as not to kick someone's legs out from underneath them.
After all, if you want to listen to a shitty album, go right ahead.
That seems like a snobbish remark, but I mean it very politely and respectfully. My tastes are my tastes, and someone else's tastes are their own. I do not expect someone to love all the things that I listen to, and everyone is free to express their opinion.
That being said, when I started playing more and more rock piano, my parents were not familiar with any of the stuff that I was learning or playing. The closest thing my parents could relate to was Jerry Lee Lewis, but I was not playing that kind of rock piano.
Sure, my parents encouraged me to pursue my musical interest, my passion for piano, expression, etc. And likewise, my friend is also encouraging his son to take the interest as far he wants. To be clear, it is very early days, but we shall see.
Right, so I think I am doing a lousy job of expressing my point. For me, my musical tastes were so distant from my folks, that we simply had a mutual respect that we each had favorites. If I think of my mother, I think immediately of Nat King Cole or Frank Sinatra. My dad was a pretty big Elvis fan, and also quite likes country western music.
In my friend's case, it is a different situation. He and his son are listening to remarkably similar stuff, from pretty much the same era. Like my friend, I never listened to bands just to irritate my folks (well, ok, maybe a few times), but I did really find myself enjoying the alternative stuff, which has that connotation with rebellion.
Now, my friend and his son are listening to these same bands, and it is simply a musical taste issue. I think part of me would want my kid liking my music, but the other part of me wants to keep my music for myself. And selfishly, I would prefer my child not to develop a liking for the bands I did not like from my own adolescence, however unfair that sounds.
I am certainly not going to solve this question here, and probably will never quite get my head around it, but as I play a Joy Division album later today, I am quite sure that some 15 year old, somewhere, is also listening to it, and perhaps even liking it. Despite the 30 year gap, I would be curious as to what made them choose the record, since I cannot see how a youth of today could really connect with JD, other than the music is brilliant.
And who knows? Maybe my dad will show up in Germany next visit wearing a Siouxsie shirt and wanting to talk with me about the JAMC.
see you out there
bryan
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