Talk about eerie synchronicity. I dug this up last August and set it aside ... for reasons I can't recall. Looking for something to run tomorrow —working on a big project, no gas in the tank — it appealed to me because my wife and I were just talking, yesterday, about whether we had spoiled the boys. We decided, no, we did not. Loved them, yes. But didn't spoil them, and failing to get them exactly what they want for Hanukkah seems to reinforce that.
In addition: a couple weeks ago, a reader was trying to think of the name of a person I'd written about "once married to the futurist John Naisbitt." I dug around, and she turned out to be Noel Brusman, mentioned in the third item.
And finally, the real icing on the cake, wondering how I should illustrate this, I looked around my desk, and noticed the self-same blue 2006 iPod, sitting within arm's reach. I have no idea how it got there. Cleaning out a drawer, probably. Nor how long it has sat there. But it came in handy.
OPENING SHOT
Like every youth in the U.S. not yet old enough to drive, my boys asked for a Nintendo Wii.
They didn't get one. Oh, I dutifully went to Best Buy a week after the frenzy of the game system's release, assuming that, as per plan, there would now be plenty on hand. The clerk gave me a strange look, as if I had asked him to snip off his pinkie finger with a cigar cutter.
No Wii, no way.
"I'm not lining up at midnight," said my wife, a sentiment I shared. So we — and this will seem like child abuse to some — didn't get the boys what they wanted most. We gave them other things.
The older boy got an iPod Nano, of which we'll hear more later. And a set of Dante/Beatrice bookends. And other cool stuff — there are eight nights of Hanukkah, remember. The younger one got an electric keyboard and a tennis racket and more.
I mention this just in case you are planning to spend the weekend in frantic search of whatever your child's heart desires for Christmas. Because children are mercurial. Yes, it is disappointing not to get what you want. But getting what you want sometimes only defers disappointment for the 10 minutes it takes for the kid to realize what a pile of junk he has been pining away for. An adult can exert judgment — we are allowed, though we forget that sometimes, in our quest to give our loved ones the perfect childhood that we didn't have either.
YOU WANT IT TO WHAT?
Imagine the spoon was invented recently — say a few years back. What a marvel. No more complex and cumbersome mechanical devices conveying soup to your lips with a linked series of little buckets. No more sputtering suction pumps.
A "spoon'' — what a great name for a product. So sleek. So well-designed. We'd all go spoon crazy. You buy your spoon, take it out of the box, admire its pure lines, then hurry to your steaming bowl of soup and — splat — it doesn't work. Hey, this isn't right! You try it again. Sploosh! Maybe you're using it wrong — maybe it isn't the narrow end, but the convex side. So you try that, the gentle dome of the spoon facing up, of course. More Campbell's Cream of Tomato in your lap.
That was me with my son's iPod Nano. No sooner did we give it to him, then he wanted to open the plastic box it came in. Kids are funny that way.
The job was quickly delegated to me. At first the box seemed seamless, as if the device was imbedded in a lucite brick. Then I studied it under a bright light, found a discreet little tab— designed by Swedes, surely. I pulled it, and the brick opened. Magic!
Flush with success, I linked the gizmo — the size of two matchbooks laid end to end — to my kids' computer downstairs. That computer told me that I would have to download iTunes 7.0. But the program wouldn't download for reasons mysterious — the computer gave me one of those useless messages, telling me to go into my system's administrator. Huh? What? Like go into his office?
Instead I went upstairs, where my computer downloaded iTunes fine. It also took the liberty of starting to load the songs from my own iPod file onto my son's new Nano, starting with A, as in Alanis Morissette.
"Not age appropriate?" my wife said, all sweet naivete, when I ran to her frantically.
"'And are you thinking of me when you . . . ' " I sang, and here I put a little oomph into the obscene verb, just like she does, "f - - - her?"
"Oh," she said.
Of course the songs wouldn't come off. There's a "RESTORE" button that's supposed to wipe the slate clean. In theory. In reality it didn't. My older son kept popping in from time to time.
"Got it going yet, Dad?" he'd say, brightly, his face shining with love and trust, while I fussed and sweated.
That was three days ago. The good news is it didn't become the Hanukkah when Dad went gibbering down into the basement, grabbed a 4-pound drilling hammer, and pounded a brand new $149 iPod Nano to flinders.
The bad news: It still won't play music. Except Alanis Morissette.
DEPT. OF CORRECTION
In my item Wednesday about "Noel Brusman's son Dave," a photo caption mistakenly identified the Chicago airman serving overseas.
He's actually Dave Naisbitt, brother of John Naisbitt, a social studies teacher at Hinsdale Central, himself a noteworthy personage.
"He is a wonderful guy, a terrific guy," said Dr. James Ferguson, principal of the school, when I called to make sure John Naisbitt is really there, so as to reduce the risk of having to correct a correction.
Not only is he there, he's busy. Naisbitt helped form the school's "Citizens Club," which this year collected 300 boxes of medical and school supplies, blankets, Beanie Babies and assorted items and shipped them to Afghanistan. (And yes, both are the sons of the bestselling author of Megatrends, also named John Naisbitt -- John Harling Naisbitt, while his son is John Senior Naisbitt, which is why I didn't refer to him as John Naisbitt Jr.)
Whew! Now you see how these errors get in the paper . . .
TODAY'S CHUCKLE:
This one -- sent by Larry Brody -- is too funny not to print.
A lawyer was riding in his limousine when he saw a man along the roadside on his hands and knees, eating grass. He ordered his driver to stop and got out to investigate.
"Why are you eating grass?" he asked.
"I don't have any money for food," the poor man replied. "We have to eat grass."
"Well, then, you can come with me to my house and I'll feed you," the lawyer said.
"But sir, I have a wife and two children with me. They are over there, grazing under that tree."
"Bring them along," the lawyer replied.
They all climbed into the car, and the lawyer instructed the driver to proceed to his house.
"Sir, you are too kind," said the man. "Thank you for taking us with you."
"Glad to do it," the lawyer replied. "You'll really love my place. The grass is almost a foot high."
OPENING SHOT
Like every youth in the U.S. not yet old enough to drive, my boys asked for a Nintendo Wii.
They didn't get one. Oh, I dutifully went to Best Buy a week after the frenzy of the game system's release, assuming that, as per plan, there would now be plenty on hand. The clerk gave me a strange look, as if I had asked him to snip off his pinkie finger with a cigar cutter.
No Wii, no way.
"I'm not lining up at midnight," said my wife, a sentiment I shared. So we — and this will seem like child abuse to some — didn't get the boys what they wanted most. We gave them other things.
I mention this just in case you are planning to spend the weekend in frantic search of whatever your child's heart desires for Christmas. Because children are mercurial. Yes, it is disappointing not to get what you want. But getting what you want sometimes only defers disappointment for the 10 minutes it takes for the kid to realize what a pile of junk he has been pining away for. An adult can exert judgment — we are allowed, though we forget that sometimes, in our quest to give our loved ones the perfect childhood that we didn't have either.
YOU WANT IT TO WHAT?
Imagine the spoon was invented recently — say a few years back. What a marvel. No more complex and cumbersome mechanical devices conveying soup to your lips with a linked series of little buckets. No more sputtering suction pumps.
A "spoon'' — what a great name for a product. So sleek. So well-designed. We'd all go spoon crazy. You buy your spoon, take it out of the box, admire its pure lines, then hurry to your steaming bowl of soup and — splat — it doesn't work. Hey, this isn't right! You try it again. Sploosh! Maybe you're using it wrong — maybe it isn't the narrow end, but the convex side. So you try that, the gentle dome of the spoon facing up, of course. More Campbell's Cream of Tomato in your lap.
That was me with my son's iPod Nano. No sooner did we give it to him, then he wanted to open the plastic box it came in. Kids are funny that way.
The job was quickly delegated to me. At first the box seemed seamless, as if the device was imbedded in a lucite brick. Then I studied it under a bright light, found a discreet little tab— designed by Swedes, surely. I pulled it, and the brick opened. Magic!
Flush with success, I linked the gizmo — the size of two matchbooks laid end to end — to my kids' computer downstairs. That computer told me that I would have to download iTunes 7.0. But the program wouldn't download for reasons mysterious — the computer gave me one of those useless messages, telling me to go into my system's administrator. Huh? What? Like go into his office?
Instead I went upstairs, where my computer downloaded iTunes fine. It also took the liberty of starting to load the songs from my own iPod file onto my son's new Nano, starting with A, as in Alanis Morissette.
"Not age appropriate?" my wife said, all sweet naivete, when I ran to her frantically.
"'And are you thinking of me when you . . . ' " I sang, and here I put a little oomph into the obscene verb, just like she does, "f - - - her?"
"Oh," she said.
Of course the songs wouldn't come off. There's a "RESTORE" button that's supposed to wipe the slate clean. In theory. In reality it didn't. My older son kept popping in from time to time.
"Got it going yet, Dad?" he'd say, brightly, his face shining with love and trust, while I fussed and sweated.
That was three days ago. The good news is it didn't become the Hanukkah when Dad went gibbering down into the basement, grabbed a 4-pound drilling hammer, and pounded a brand new $149 iPod Nano to flinders.
The bad news: It still won't play music. Except Alanis Morissette.
DEPT. OF CORRECTION
In my item Wednesday about "Noel Brusman's son Dave," a photo caption mistakenly identified the Chicago airman serving overseas.
He's actually Dave Naisbitt, brother of John Naisbitt, a social studies teacher at Hinsdale Central, himself a noteworthy personage.
"He is a wonderful guy, a terrific guy," said Dr. James Ferguson, principal of the school, when I called to make sure John Naisbitt is really there, so as to reduce the risk of having to correct a correction.
Not only is he there, he's busy. Naisbitt helped form the school's "Citizens Club," which this year collected 300 boxes of medical and school supplies, blankets, Beanie Babies and assorted items and shipped them to Afghanistan. (And yes, both are the sons of the bestselling author of Megatrends, also named John Naisbitt -- John Harling Naisbitt, while his son is John Senior Naisbitt, which is why I didn't refer to him as John Naisbitt Jr.)
Whew! Now you see how these errors get in the paper . . .
TODAY'S CHUCKLE:
This one -- sent by Larry Brody -- is too funny not to print.
A lawyer was riding in his limousine when he saw a man along the roadside on his hands and knees, eating grass. He ordered his driver to stop and got out to investigate.
"Why are you eating grass?" he asked.
"I don't have any money for food," the poor man replied. "We have to eat grass."
"Well, then, you can come with me to my house and I'll feed you," the lawyer said.
"But sir, I have a wife and two children with me. They are over there, grazing under that tree."
"Bring them along," the lawyer replied.
They all climbed into the car, and the lawyer instructed the driver to proceed to his house.
"Sir, you are too kind," said the man. "Thank you for taking us with you."
"Glad to do it," the lawyer replied. "You'll really love my place. The grass is almost a foot high."
—Originally published in the Sun-Times, Dec. 22, 2006
Great joke at the end!
ReplyDeletefun
ReplyDeleteLaughed myself to tears trying to retell that joke to my wife. Always good to start the day with a laugh. Thanks for sharing Neil!
ReplyDeleteThanks for the guffaw!
ReplyDeleteWas going to say, "Heard that...." But of course, heard it in the original post in 2006. Well worth repeating.
ReplyDelete