What computers were invented for
The magic of Christmas met the wonder of technology this Christmas. Was visiting friends with teenage children, who, being teenagers, could finally get friends' web-cam working. Within minutes they had left the adults and were back chatting with their friends on-line and with added pictures.
When I was a lad, the apex of communication was shouting or, failing that, two soup tins (empty) and a length of string. Today, children are in constant contact with one another by text, e mail, IMS and, for all those traditionalists out there, semaphore. Where do they find the time to actually do anything worth talking about?
Friends parents told me of delights of instant messaging with web cams, especially in other people's houses. The youth in question, currently 'chatting' in the next room had, a couple of days previously, been likewise engaged at his grandmother's house, chatting to his teenage girlfriend who, under the influence of one Bicardi Breezer too many, flashed her boobs at our hero.
Of course, Grandma had chosen just that moment to appear behind the boys shoulder to ask if he wanted a cup of tea.
Lad defuses situation by explaining that he's not looking at porn and manfully tries to spin positive story from having an exhibitionist drunkard for a girlfriend. Looks back to monitor to see that girl has been replaced by angry older brother of girl, asking what the hell was going on and what a pervert like him was doing telling his baby sister to take her top off. Once again our hero, sweating like a malaria sufferer uring the great quinine drought of '98, explains that it all sort of happened quickly and that if the enraged older brother will scroll back up the chat, he will see the response to 'shall I take my top off?' was 'Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!'.
So, festive peace was restored.
Wondering if there was to be any flesh on show tonight I wandered into the room with the PC and the youth in qustion. When I appeared at his shoulder, his hands flew to the >ctrl< key and two of the three windows that were active closed down. It would appear that the lad in question has learned a lesson from this...always keep two hands on the keyboard.
When I was a lad, the apex of communication was shouting or, failing that, two soup tins (empty) and a length of string. Today, children are in constant contact with one another by text, e mail, IMS and, for all those traditionalists out there, semaphore. Where do they find the time to actually do anything worth talking about?
Friends parents told me of delights of instant messaging with web cams, especially in other people's houses. The youth in question, currently 'chatting' in the next room had, a couple of days previously, been likewise engaged at his grandmother's house, chatting to his teenage girlfriend who, under the influence of one Bicardi Breezer too many, flashed her boobs at our hero.
Of course, Grandma had chosen just that moment to appear behind the boys shoulder to ask if he wanted a cup of tea.
Lad defuses situation by explaining that he's not looking at porn and manfully tries to spin positive story from having an exhibitionist drunkard for a girlfriend. Looks back to monitor to see that girl has been replaced by angry older brother of girl, asking what the hell was going on and what a pervert like him was doing telling his baby sister to take her top off. Once again our hero, sweating like a malaria sufferer uring the great quinine drought of '98, explains that it all sort of happened quickly and that if the enraged older brother will scroll back up the chat, he will see the response to 'shall I take my top off?' was 'Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!'.
So, festive peace was restored.
Wondering if there was to be any flesh on show tonight I wandered into the room with the PC and the youth in qustion. When I appeared at his shoulder, his hands flew to the >ctrl< key and two of the three windows that were active closed down. It would appear that the lad in question has learned a lesson from this...always keep two hands on the keyboard.
2 Comments:
Well, I must say, I don't know what I'd do if I had teenage children (and I suppose it's plausible that I have one should I have gotten knocked up in the 9th grade). Luckily, my father always set a "time limit" for the telephone, and when call-waiting was invented, I wasn't allowed to get it as "the boys needed to hear a busy signal" and "if they really want to talk with you they'll call back". Of course, those were also the days when it was still OK to be cleaning a shotgun (which my father was known to do) when young boys arrived to pickup teenage daughters.
PS. Thanks for throwing me a bone...I was about to start writing about beaches...which I may do anyway.
Post a Comment
<< Home