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Saturday, October 16, 2004 · posted at 11:45 PM

Old school

My freshman year of high school I had a teacher who lived in a state of denial about his age, or more specifically his stage of life. He was "The Fonz" of teaching. He desperately wanted to be young and "hip" and for us to adore his "coolness." Monday lectures would be about his weekends of volleyball and partying and Friday lectures would be about his forthcoming weekend plans of booze and women. That he would use the word "women" should have been an indication that he was older than his Noxzema-buying, Jnco Jeans-wearing, TI-82 touting students.

He once said, "People in our age group..." in reference to him and the whole class. I don't even know what the end of that sentence was - I was too busy thinking, "That is so pathetic."

I've had many conversations about being "with it" and being "not with it" and at what point are you no longer "with it." Do you blatantly decide on an arbitrary birthday that you are no longer with it? Does realization just hit you one day when you decide to watch mammal dvds rather than get drunk downtown? Or do you just trudge on, thinking you're with it and oblivious to the fact that you're not?

Now I can see how it's so easy to slip into the denial that I am not an adult. I refuse to believe I'm old. Of course old is a relative term. I'm young in the sense that I'm not collecting Social Security yet. But I'm definitely on the old end of the spectrum of people whose mainstay is pop culture and being with it.

I've tried very hard to convince myself that I'm "just out of college" and still as free-spirited and sans responsibility. I talk to the college interns instead of my coworkers because that's my demographic. In reality, I have a health plan and a 403(b), and I'm equidistant in age to my old officemate and the new class of interns. I'm the Fonz!

The straw that broke the camel's back?

A person is nothing but his image. Philosophers can tell us that it doesn’t matter what the world thinks of us, that nothing matters but what we really are. But philosophers don’t understand anything. As long as we live with other people, we are only what other people consider us to be. Thinking about how others see us and trying to make our image as attractive as possible is considered a kind of dissembling or cheating. But does there exist another kind of direct contact between my self and their selves except through the mediation of the eyes?
- Milan Kundera, Immortality, p. 127

I interviewed a potential intern today. I asked her about her schooling, her skills, her interests. I empathized about her less than stellar grades, we bonded over our love for social psychology... And then she said that she was adept at website matters because "people my age like to do online journals."

I was incredulous. I wanted to scream, "I do that! I am your age! You're talking about my people" but instead I kindly thanked her for her time, showed her the door and disqualified her for making me feel old.

Some might argue that a comment like that should be taken positively, that I engaged in an activity that young people do so I should feel young.

But there was this implication that she belonged to an age group that I did not. And that implication is completely valid.

While voter registration may look at us the same, clearly we are not at the same stage in our lives. She belongs to the population of people who roll out of bed at 11 and complain about noon classes, the population that eats fast food instead of packing a lunch, a population who doesn't even need to stress about being with it because they are just naturally so.

I had been Mr "Call me Jeff" Rosso with a "think of me as your peer because it makes me feel young" mentality. I should have known from the emphatic nodding that this girl clearly did not regard us as equals. It was like that Camry commercial where the guy tells a horrible joke and everyone laughs and the tagline is "The first time your butt is kissed." To clarify, no one is kissing my butt. But I wonder if the interns politely agree with me and inside harbor the same thoughts about me as I had circa 1995 about my 9th grade teacher.

It's a sad day, but I think I've realized that although I can use my old ID to buy discount movie tickets, it is indeed my old identity and I'm no longer belonging to the college crowd.

So what now? Drive a sensible mid-size sedan? Check. Spend Friday nights watching movies? Check. Use and abuse my newfound adult status to torment those still enjoying the luxury of responsibility free youth? I'll put it on my "To Do" list for Monday.

"There's a copy request form with your name on it..."

If you can't join 'em, beat 'em.



	Saturday, October 16, 2004 · posted at 11:45 PM Old school My freshman year of high school I had a teacher who lived in a state of denial about his age, or more specifically his stage of life. He was "The Fonz" of teaching. He desperately wanted to be young and "hip" and for us to adore his "coolness." Monday lectures would be about his weekends of volleyball and partying and Friday lectures would be about his forthcoming weekend plans of booze and women. That he would use the word "women" should have been an indication that he was older than his Noxzema-buying, Jnco Jeans-wearing, TI-82 touting students. He once said, "People in our age group..." in reference to him and the whole class. I don't even know what the end of that sentence was - I was too busy thinking, "That is so pathetic." I've had many conversations about being "with it" and being "not with it" and at what point are you no longer "with it." Do you blatantly decide on an arbitrary birthday that you are no longer with it? Does realization just hit you one day when you decide to watch mammal dvds rather than get drunk downtown? Or do you just trudge on, thinking you're with it and oblivious to the fact that you're not? Now I can see how it's so easy to slip into the denial that I am not an adult. I refuse to believe I'm old. Of course old is a relative term. I'm young in the sense that I'm not collecting Social Security yet. But I'm definitely on the old end of the spectrum of people whose mainstay is pop culture and being with it. I've tried very hard to convince myself that I'm "just out of college" and still as free-spirited and sans responsibility. I talk to the college interns instead of my coworkers because that's my demographic. In reality, I have a health plan and a 403(b), and I'm equidistant in age to my old officemate and the new class of interns. I'm the Fonz! The straw that broke the camel's back? A person is nothing but his image. Philosophers can tell us that it doesn’t matter what the world thinks of us, that nothing matters but what we really are. But philosophers don’t understand anything. As long as we live with other people, we are only what other people consider us to be. Thinking about how others see us and trying to make our image as attractive as possible is considered a kind of dissembling or cheating. But does there exist another kind of direct contact between my self and their selves except through the mediation of the eyes? - Milan Kundera, Immortality, p. 127 I interviewed a potential intern today. I asked her about her schooling, her skills, her interests. I empathized about her less than stellar grades, we bonded over our love for social psychology... And then she said that she was adept at website matters because "people my age like to do online journals." I was incredulous. I wanted to scream, "I do that! I am your age! You're talking about my people" but instead I kindly thanked her for her time, showed her the door and disqualified her for making me feel old. Some might argue that a comment like that should be taken positively, that I engaged in an activity that young people do so I should feel young. But there was this implication that she belonged to an age group that I did not. And that implication is completely valid. While voter registration may look at us the same, clearly we are not at the same stage in our lives. She belongs to the population of people who roll out of bed at 11 and complain about noon classes, the population that eats fast food instead of packing a lunch, a population who doesn't even need to stress about being with it because they are just naturally so. I had been Mr "Call me Jeff" Rosso with a "think of me as your peer because it makes me feel young" mentality. I should have known from the emphatic nodding that this girl clearly did not regard us as equals. It was like that Camry commercial where the guy tells a horrible joke and everyone laughs and the tagline is "The first time your butt is kissed." To clarify, no one is kissing my butt. But I wonder if the interns politely agree with me and inside harbor the same thoughts about me as I had circa 1995 about my 9th grade teacher. It's a sad day, but I think I've realized that although I can use my old ID to buy discount movie tickets, it is indeed my old identity and I'm no longer belonging to the college crowd. So what now? Drive a sensible mid-size sedan? Check. Spend Friday nights watching movies? Check. Use and abuse my newfound adult status to torment those still enjoying the luxury of responsibility free youth? I'll put it on my "To Do" list for Monday. "There's a copy request form with your name on it..." If you can't join 'em, beat 'em.	Recent Posts Expiration date Today I told my boss wished to te... I'm convinced the ETS is out to get me. I never t... 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