Past imperfect

I remarked in a car full of Eastern European women that I was considering a Tintin collection as a birthday gift for an 11-year old. There were chuckles and someone said, "Do you want it to be an investment"? I suppose it is a bit weird to have an abiding affection for an asexual (does he have an umbilical cord?) creature of indeterminate age that looks like a well-shaped amoebum (or maybe paramecium) complete with  with a furry dog and filthy sailor for companions.

Then there are those dyed-in-the-wool Enid Blyton fans, including one who has been pestering me forever to write about her (Blyton that is, not about the pester-er). Where I grew up, this was de rigeur diet for the bookworm club, and even for the jocks. But the British saw blighted Blyton for what she was - George, we all know, was going to end up pregnant at 15, go through a Goth phase, briefly turn butch, like it so much and finally settle down with Ellen the Degenerate naked and hugging a tree. But the legacy is strong, and you can see Enid Blyton lined up in rows at Border Singapore. I know, I was just there today.

All this brings me to the realization that one must accept things and move on. Or else you will turn into hideous morons that I have had the misfortune of knowing. This always happens at subcontinental parties: someone is playing something nice, something from the last decade, French electro, or, god forbid, even house or Euro club. Many idiots are drinking "JD Coke" or "Red Label". Everyone is flush. Suddenly someone cries "Classic Rock"!! Next thing, it is a chorus and everyone is doing that completely stupid move where they raise their hands, with a couple of fingers sticking out, urging everyone to keep on rocking. Someone switches the music to "Scorpions", who are of course Still Loving Each Other. Peace reigns.

I meantime have vomited in disgust.

I am sorry to pontificate, but once in a while we have to move on. We need to maintain our curiosity and learn new things, to appreciate new music, literature, sexual positions and even things like fashion trends. I am talking to you, you there with a porcupine on your head - that hairstyle went out with the 70s Bollywood. We are all going to calcify after we die, figuratively speaking, for an archeologist to dig up eons from now. Why start the process now?

I think I'm gonna get the 11-year old something called "Diary of a Wimpy Kid".