Excruciation

..
Paris and Spain, to which end Dick purchased the latest in trendy back packs,
which he proudly showed me on the night I visited them recently in Warrandyte.
(See Dick’s Toolbox). I said it looked very fine, but one should be
careful when wielding such an item in polite society, and told him this salutary
tale by way of illustration.
Quite some time ago I was to meet a friend for a Sunday morning breakfast at
the hottest coffee joint in Hawthorn. I arrived early, or she arrived late,
I don’t remember which, but when she did finally arrive, almost the first
thing she said was, “Why do you always bring that?’ looking scornfully
at my man-satchel that’s frequently mistaken for a down-market lap-top
bag at airports. ‘I have everything I need in it,’ I stammered,
‘I don’t like having to squeeze my wallet and my phone and other
things into my trousers – and anyway, for the same reason you have that..’
I looked hopelessly at her sleek Gucci clutch and concluded lamely, ‘It’s
a seniors’ thing’.
She wasn’t exactly thrilled with the table I’d managed to secure
either, so when the couple with the cute-looking child with the colouring book
said there was room for us at their table, she happily accepted on our behalf.
As I manoeuvered my way into my seat, my maligned satchel let me down emphatically
and brushed a cup of coffee on the next table – which proceeded to empty its
scalding contents onto this bloke’s lap.
Initially I was unaware of what had happened and I was utterly dismayed when
I realised what I’d done, but that was just the beginning of my discomfort.
The fellow now wearing his coffee was surly (naturally – but I suspect
surliness was his standard disposition), and tattooed and looked like a serial
killer out on parole. His girlfriend actually seemed to be quite nice, (is she
really going out with him?), and attempted to be neutral and soothing, but from
the moment the coffee dove gleefully into his lap until he left the café
thirty minutes later, this paragon of manly virtue said not a word; but if looks
could kill, I was dead several times over.
That thirty minutes felt more like thirty hours – thirty squirmingly miserable
hours. I suppose the incident (from the immediately remaindered Mike’s
Book of Questionable Opening Gambits) was a conversation starter on our
table at least, but despite everybody’s best efforts and the charming
young couple’s charming life story and their charming curly headed daughter
and her charming colouring book, I was unable to sensibly engage in their sociable
chatter or be consoled and just wanted to be somewhere else – anywhere
else.
Oh, there’s more – much, much more – but I’ve just succeeded
in making myself feel miserable again, so I won’t push it any further.

My latest technological acquisition is a webcam and with it comes the potential
for making Skype-type video calls. Whenever I come across these technological
advances, I’m reminded of IGY, or the International Geophysical Year (1957-58)
as it used to be known before acronyms became mandatory. I’m fairly certain
I’ve mentioned this particular event before, because it was quite pivotal
to this impressionable adolescent, even more than the Billy Graham Crusade –
I was that close to making a decision for Christ – and Norman Vincent
Peale’s book The Power of Positive Thinking, which my mum thought
might be instructive reading.
However, at the age of twelve I was already an established SF (Science Fiction)
fan, this being when L. Ron Hubbard was better known as an SF short story writer
and publisher (Analog Science Fact & Fiction) than the originator
of Scientology, so the visions of the immediate future presented by the SF writers
and real scientists of the time stimulated by the IGY seemed tremendously exciting.
Amongst the plethora of seductive futuristic ideas was the video phone. Well,
they didn’t call them video phones then because there was no such thing
as video in those days, but the principle of phoning someone and seeing them
at the same time seemed to be a desirable thing. Progress – yes, we believed
in progress.
Most people these days have an array of phone devices and I’ve noticed
that nearly half of my phone contacts also have Skype addresses, but people
seem to be more selective about how they use the video component than was envisaged
in the late ‘50s. The primary reason for parents acquiring a Skype seems
to be to stay in touch with their kids that have, say, left home for other digs
or are travelling OS, and while I’ve no idea why kids might use Skype,
I’m sure that it’s not necessarily just to stay in touch with their
olds.
I wanted it for a couple of reasons, but one of them was to stay in visual touch
with my mum, who lives in (comparatively) far away Auckland. I thought it would
be reassuring to actually see her when I call, especially as my visits to NZ
are too few and far between, not to mention of course that Skype’s cheaper
than phoning
Readers of my personal blog (on the Sept.ASR
page) will know that I contrived to get offside with my mum recently when I
published a photo of her against her express wishes. (It’s since been
modified, but the damage was done). Subsequently I’ve been unable to persuade
her that the Skype/video-phone-thing is a good idea, but I’m not convinced
that her attitude won’t eventually soften. Then again, I get the feeling
she thinks she’s got quite enough new technology to go on with already,
thank you very much. Whatever she decides, I reckon she’s still a very
hip mum.