Yep. I know I’m going to basically brand myself as a crotchety old fart here, but I have to get some of this off my chest.
Where in the hell do some of these stupid trends come from? You know what I’m talking about. Take a walk down any suburban street near a school, or in any mall. You’ll see our youth…out hopes and dreams for tomorrow…with their pants around their asses, or lower, with thongs riding high above tight jeans, dinner-plate sized spacers stretching their ears to ridiculous proportions, tattoos, piercings, spitting…
Okay, reading back that last line, I do feel like a crotchety old fart.
So, I should go back and state that, when I was young, yes, I made some unfortunate choices. Multi-toned hair. Parachute Pants. Sugar Sacks. There was even a point where I had, for reasons now long forgotten, a fork in a jean jacket pocket. Had that for several years. And yes, I’ll admit it, I even rocked a mullet for many years.
But every one of these things was temporary. I could get rid of any of them as needed. Not that I was ashamed of any of them. I’m just saying, as the need arose, they could be hidden like Spider-man’s costume and I could go out as Peter Parker.
And yes, I do know that much of what the youth of today are doing is also safe, temporary rebellion.
Take the whole “Pants on the Ground” phenomenon.
Also known as “sagging” it’s when the pants are slung low enough that I usually get a distastefully full view of a dude’s underwear. Okay, there’s a reason it’s called underwear. And I don’t want to see it. Just as I don’t want to see the “whale tail” from the females out there that insist on dropping their drawers and proudly flashing their thong. Apparently this trend came from the U.S. prison system where belts (which can be used for suicide or fighting) are not allowed. Then the 90s Hip Hop community picked it up.
I know a cop friend of mine happens to love the trend. “Makes it a helluva lot easier to catch the morons when they try and run,” he says. Well, yeah. When your knees are knocking against the crotch area of your jeans, you ain’t got a lot of room for high-speed bookin’. Then you’re left with your pants on the ground, lookin’ like a fool.
But the offshoot sagging trend I particularly enjoy is scrawny boys sagging skinny-legged jeans. Watch them walk. That’s a hoot.
And tattoos. Okay, I get it, it’s a personal choice, and one that, though I don’t like them personally, understand and support anyone that wants them. Even my daughter. I’ve told her that, until she’s eighteen, I will not give my consent. After eighteen, that is, in 13 more days, she can get one. But. The last thing I need is my daughter getting Hep C or whatever, so I want her to let me know so I can hook up with some of my tattooed friends to find someone reputable and clean. Not to mention someone that can spell. Because, you know, you want your ink to be awesome. Not “awsome”.
Even with that though, don’t go extreme okay? Tongue tats? Eyeball tats? Just say no.
I still don’t think many people really consider what those tats will look like when they’re 60, 70, or 80 years old. But as I wrote yesterday, when I was young, I was immortal. Age was something that happened to old people and I was never going to get old.
Newsflash, kids. Everyone gets old. And not all of us do it gracefully. Just look at Joan Rivers.
Let’s talk piercings. Punching holes in your body to hook things into or push things through.
We do this because….?
Again, I get it. Earrings have been socially acceptable since forever. But it’s the ones going through the eyebrows, through, or virtually every other piece of the body. Sorry, grosses me out a bit. Grossed me out even more a few years back when I interviewed a girl who was obviously heavily pierced. But, for the interview, she pulled them all out. So, there I sat, across from a candidate that looked as though she worked parttime as a dartboard. She looked painful. I’d have preferred she’d left them in. I just wanted to spackle all those holes.
And what’s with this trend of making your earlobes as big and floppy enough to carry serving trays in them?
Seriously? I don’t get it.
But you know what? Hey, it’s a free world. You wanna go out and modify your body to your specifications, why not? God knows enough women get implants for breasts, guys get their penises lengthened, and everyone seems to get fat sucked, or collagen implanted or whatever. Go nuts.
Just don’t be offended if I point it all out, okay? You can’t do that shit and not expect someone to notice. Admit it, part of the reason you do it is to be noticed.
The one thing that drives me absolutely batshit though, the thing that actually gave me the germ of this blog, the habit I absolutely despise above all others, is spitting.
When did it become socially acceptable, or cool, or whatever, to constantly expectorate? What? Suddenly the next generation was born with overactive salivary glands? They have so much excess that they’ve got to constantly drop it on the sidewalks for my dog to sniff and my shoes to squelch through?
I expect the old dudes that still, on rare occasion, use chewing tobacco to spit it out. But the few that I’ve seen do that all seem to carry a can with them…seems society saw fit to get rid of spittoons a long time ago. Judging from the kids in my neighbourhood, we’ll have to start putting them back in. And at regular five-foot intervals along the streets.
I just want to state here. Spitting does not make you look cool. Spitting does not make you look tough. Spitting does not make you look attractive.
Again, just say no. Or, in the words of Monty Python, “come back and I shall taunt you a second time, you tiny-brained wipers of other people’s bottoms!”