Revolting Youth

What is it with the youth of today? I’m afraid I for one no longer understand them...and I don’t mean in the figurative sense either. I literally cannot understand them – the way they speak (with great speed and using words rather sparingly...ya know, incase they run out) and their general vernacular (a mixture of grunts and lethargy)...and I’m young still, so God love anyone who finds themselves older, and thus, incapable of understanding the speech of the dumbed down generation. Of course, I don’t want to be talking down the generation that I so narrowly escaped growing up in, and I’m pretty sure there are people of my age group not unlike the afore described, but lets face it, anyone only coming through the school system right now, screw it, write them off – they’re a lost cause.

With impending college fees in the not too distant future, and the likelihood that any parent or pre-adolescent seeing any great merit in spending vast amounts of money on an education, for that – the sake of an education (or at least to be perceived as educated), because as it stands there’s too many of us bloody “Degree Holders” as it is lurking around and waiting for the next job opportunity in Nandos to spring up, so well, it’s not looking good for the next batch coming up the ranks of underage drinking and frivolous one night stands...and it’s not like they’re going to aspire to anything great anyway, right? I mean, the i-Pad has already been invented, what other unnecessary utilities need be invented still? Hmm? Uhm...nope. I’m all out of ideas. Fuck you anyway television for switching off any remaining imaginative light bulbs that may have had some juice left in em’.

Not that my generation has done anything spellbindingly well and deserves any great level of appreciation or adulation. What have we done? Made some rather obnoxious and conspicuous fashion choices coupled with hair styles that somehow were believed to be fashionable, not to mention making the music industry what it is today – absolute shite. Now, as I’m told daily, if not hourly, by anyone over fifty, this would be an ideal time to piss off and relocate elsewhere…so in fifteen years time I can come riding back into town on my high horse and laugh at the failure of youth and their inability of ridding our country of this seemingly never ending deficit. Most likely the ones that do escape will still find it difficult to attain any kind of income elsewhere, but hell, at least they’ll get a tan whilst they’re sitting around waiting for that proverbial door of opportunity to open and watching their pubic hair slowly discolour.

I have no problem in stating this. Mine is a generation of failure. You might think that it is actually our current Taoiseach, his cabinet, and the Bankers that are the failures, but you’d be wrong. Forget your Brian Cowens and your Bank O-fuck-ups, they achieved something no other generation pre-existing to them did. Seriously, they did. You don’t think so? No? Well they managed to piss away our economy and have created nothing short of a horrendous situation that they’ve so nicely left us, and most likely our children’s children to deal with. Seeeeee. At least they created something, even it was just a 150-billion-million-bazillion (whose keeping count anymore?) deficit, and to be fair, it was pretty fucking bold and innovative of them, if not pure shit of them! The bastards! I hope they’re happy!...How much did they get for a pension again?...Oh wait, no folks, they actually are happy! Delighted even! And here I was being all rhetorical and the like...ha!

Let’s be honest, the dependency on the upcoming generation shouldn’t leave anyone holding their breaths. This generation can barely organise a protest to stand up for their entitlements, and that should be fairly simple – I mean, they’ve fuck all to do each day but sleep in, drink their body weight in beer made directly from distilled piss nightly and keep up to date with Home and Away…and if they’re really a cut above the rest, try remember who it was that they let suck their face last night. Nice. To paraphrase the dastardly, yet somehow fondly remembered Charles Haughey, “The generation on the way up isn’t going to be any better, let me tell you”. Well, it was something to that effect, but who really cares…that’s history. Yeah! Wait, no. Why didn’t somebody listen to the old shit!? He did after all set a bench mark for his fellow Fianna Fail fucknuts. – knew what he was talking about! … Oh that isn’t fair. He was a thieving old shit.   

Of course, what has this, and indeed the next generation to aspire to? Who is setting the bench mark for both ambition and achievement? Who is setting a good example? Why celebrities of course! Take, uhm, Katie Price? Okay, bad example...she’s actually looking pretty successful these days, and like she may well break into American television, but that’s only because compared to what’s screened on their televisions she could almost be considered educational. I did say almost, right? Okay, let me think of a real turd at the end of the barrel of unsuccessful celebrities. Right, got it, Alex Reid – yeah, Alex Reid...

“Who the fuck is Alex Reid!?”

 “You don’t know Alex Reid!!? How do you not!????????”

Well, if you are one of the lucky few that has somehow managed not to become privy to this tanned carnival creature with little else running through his head but circus music, then here’s the skinny on this prick ;  he’s this guy that was a failed actor, failed extra (see Sliding Doors), failed cage fighter, (now a) failed spouse, and a overall a failed wannabe “celebrity”. But now that I come to think of it, he was a pretty convincing drag queen. He is the best, if not main example of people that are becoming famous for the sake of being famous right now…not to mention the financial benefactors of. But mainly for the sake of being famous…oh and the sex, don’t forget the sex (well, there’s always someone equally desperate enough to sleep with a “nobody celebrity” to become an even greater “nobody celebrity” – infact, there’s no shortage of the immoral beings looking for a career by virtue of salacious activities, as long as they don’t have to do something mad, like…ha….find a job and work – huh, what sucker’d do that!)!!!?

These “celebrities” aren’t giving us, the numb-minded-want-to-escape-reality-each-evening-even-if-its-only-for-fifteen-minutes-fools anything of great value...zero words of wisdom, shag all knowledge, and experience wise, aside from probably having to humiliate themselves in order to attract some public attention (still taking Alex Reid, married Katie Price, dressed up in drag, tried to write an advice column (or so I’m told) and subsequently has been dumped by Katie Price – yes, you will find his picture next to the definition of humiliation), thus these “celebs” are hardly equipped with anything truly worthwhile or that may even leave an impression of themselevs on us...the mindless television beings that we’ve become since the dawn of reality television.  I’m gonna come out and say this – television is the cause of our woes. Don’t believe me? Where were you when the Bankers and the Government were out chin wagging, making decisions, passing laws and enjoying immensely expensive dinners and fine wines, courtesy of the tax-payer, of course!!! I’ll tell you where! Sprawled out on the couch watching repeats, because you never know, you may just find something new to laugh about in Kirstie Alley’s Big Life (don’t get me started on that absolute waste of dignity) other than how bad the comic timing is/was, and eating prawn cocktail flavoured crisps in unison to Kirstie Alley eating her prawn flavoured “chips”. Okay, the last part you most likely weren't doing...I know this on account of two reasons. One ; prawn cocktail flavored crisps aren't saturated in enough lard content for Kirstie Alley these days, and two ; prawn flavoured crisps are nothing short of a disgusting dish created by the Devil himself, and who actually would insult their accumulative taste buds and digestive system? Subsequently, you need to believe in the Devil in order to relate to how disgusting prawn crisps are. Which I do…merely because of their existence.

See, the problem is, we can’t hope for a better generation of youngsters right now because the generation of youngsters as it stands (mine included) are sat on their arses watching The Hills…or if you’ve only access to RTE (God love you)…the lesser but even worse (something I never imagined saying) equivalent, Fade Street. Even a generation up from mine, there are qualified Solicitors sat on the dole doing just that…watching this dumbed down rhubarb, but then again, screw the Solicitors, it was greed that most likely got them into that profession in the first place, and look where greed has gotten us! Huh!? Yeah. Take that, high achievers!

Now I know this could be considered pontificating at the highest level, but really, I have no hope for the next three generations, and when that gravy train headed for Australia and Canada eventually comes to a hault, and it will, killing off every great intention and wondrous notion of escapism each 22 – 28 year old currently enhabits, I’ll hopefully be one of the lucky few to have gotten and gone further than anyone with a Phd (geographically, that is), and when I come back on my high horse, I’d better not find you still on that couch eating prawn cocktail flavoured snack foods.

So there.  

Coming of Age

This weekend went by any I barely even noticed. Not that I felt it was wasted, but rather that I used it to watch some altogether very average films, eat a lot of rubbish that my toilet didn’t end up thanking me for and oversleeping well into the late afternoon of both Saturday and Sunday. You would be right for thinking I’d have achieved little and could have little to say after barely communicating with another human being other than yelling “twat” at Russell Crowe on my tv, and hissing at the mere sight of Diablo Cody’s name in the film credits that followed in the latter film.

However, my lack of heading out didn’t stop me from feeling rather estranged from human etiquette and feeling particularly old given my birth date in no way should allow me feel like I’m ready to draw my pension and bus pass…though given how steep the price of public transport is, I think it’s somewhat unfair that old age pensioners are allowed get on a bus, for free, and get off after only two or three stops. I mean, c’mon Government, that’s hardly good business sense, is it? OAP’s have money too, and if they so frivolously desire to use the bus, then they should do so at their own peril, and don’t even think about asking me to give up my seat for one of them. Not so long ago I did this good deed only to find the woman refusing rather loudly that she didn’t want my seat and it ended up with me looking like I was  trying to rob /molest this blue haired coffin dodger rather than an attempt at being civilised and good natured. At any rate, OAP’s should walk more ; it’d help with their varicose veins and what have you.

Saturday night was fine. I slobbed on the couch for an obscene amount of time ignoring the fact that most people my age are out there getting rat arsed and felt up, waaaaay longer than the average person should watching, well, watching shag all of interest and what I have come to realise is very forgettable television. Feeling somewhat in the mood for an all out day of ill health it was decided a takeaway would be a good call ; and I ordered, online – to avoid contact with an aggravating soul, a doner kebab, chips, curry sauce and the obligatory bottle of diet coke, because heaven forbid I should consume one more item I would end up feeling disgusted at myself for having. The order went almost smoothly, however, I paid with Visa and Visa, obviously feeling like transactions were possibly too easy have decided to put an extra added security password on purchasers over the net. Now I have one password for everything, but this password isn’t allowed on this added Visa security because of its length…which is another measure of security, but not to Visa, so I had obviously put in place another easy to remember password – only I hadn’t. It ended up with me having to guess passwords I may have made up which rendered my bid of a trouble free purchase of a kebab possibly a more difficult means of order. Fuck you anyway Visa. All I wanted was a kebab…if my card was found trying to purchase first class tickets to the Bahamas then ask for a password – yeah?

So there I sat in anticipation of the arrival of my 10,000 calorie kebab, having even left the couch to attain some salt and vinegar and a plate and glass to avoid any further unnecessary moving. Half way through watching another pointless Crowe and Scott collaborative film my ‘phone rang and with the ‘phone number being an unknown I knew my food was somewhere in the vicinity. It was of course the delivery man and he was at my gate, which isn’t an unusual occurrence that he should ring looking for further directions given my front door is located in a pretty unusual location…at the back of a what looks to be a house. Anyway, no problem I tell him where I am, but this isn’t the issue – he notes the gates are open, obviously having 20/20 vision, though fears they may close. I assure him I will get him out should he become locked in – so in he drives. Ten minutes after hearing his car come to a halt I still have no kebab, chips or curry sauce, and find myself now having to go see where he has gotten to, only he hasn’t gotten to anywhere – he’s still sat in his car looking bleak and frustrated at the world, and somewhat like a man that is currently gassing himself whilst listening to The Carpenters. My ‘phone rings once more – it is he, and I can see him speaking on the ‘phone. Now he’s questioning where I am, and when am I coming to collect the food?

Now hold on, wait…

This is a delivery driver asking me am I coming to collect the food…something is amiss. His job requires two things, driving and delivering, but he is so nonchalant about the latter part and carefree that my kebab is freezing on his back seat that I actually ended up going down to collect…in my slob attire. I had all these smart things in my head to utter at him as he handed over the food, but as always, in my head I’m a tough guy and in person I’m a subservient female. I took my food, said thank you, in what you might describe to be a sarcastic tone, only frustratingly I think he believed it to be sincere and he looked at me peeved for wasting his time. Somehow the shoe went on the other foot  - and he sped off in a manner that could only be described as a getaway driver, and not an elemental food delivery driver. The bastard must have noted there would be no tip upon arrival as the food had already been paid for by Visa, but in all seriousness, when did delivery drivers attain such power over us slovenly individuals?

The night went on, and I decided to clear away the stench from the remains of the chomped kebab and chips that lay strewn on my plate. I walked into the kitchen only to hear some youngsters in the park adjacent from my front (back) door…speaking in tongues I could no longer understand, only for the obligatory curse here and there and having fun. And for the first time in my mid-twenties I actually felt an overwhelming sense of angst that they should be having fun in the park late at night, no doubt drinking their body weight in Bavaria and trying to set a Guinness Book Record for how many fingers they can insert to the ugliest/drunkest/sluttiest female in their company. I mean, I never did anything like that when I was young. The drinking part, perhaps, but the female thing? Never. I was far too nervous to even look a girl in the eye and the only time I would have felt such confidence to even suggest doing something, by all accounts, sticky, that would have been mates…and how I would like to. God, I must have been in college by the time I was able to suggest such antics to a female and even then I was rather clumsy and clueless about which and what went where. Youngsters these days… Having toyed with the idea of calling the police to break up this trouble-less bunch for no reason other than middle aged jealousy, I opted to return to my television and watch the annoyingly good, but not too far above average Juno, which in my opinion shouldn’t have gotten an Oscar for best script given the circumstances surrounding the genesis of the script – rumours of a co-script writer. The only comfort I could take from this night whilst watching Juno was nothing other than I hoped some young couple in the park would drunkenly fall into the pitfall that I had so easily avoided falling into in my youth – a teenage pregnancy. Not that I ever had the opportunity, the balls, nor the confidence to put my thing in a females thing…but I would most certainly have liked to.

So what did I learn from the weekend? In short – I’m getting old and particularly grumpy, which begs the question, are old people grumpy because of their age, or grumpy merely because they were grumpy all along? Whichever it is, it isn’t looking good for me. Have pity for me.