Writing Boots

On communication, professional and otherwise.

As the mist slowly gathers around us

05.28.2015 by David Murray // Leave a Comment

Scout, 11: "Aunt Susy, do you use Snapchat?"

Susy, 65: "Is it time for snacks yet?!"

I remember watching TV with my dad when he was in his 80s.

Though he'd been an advertising man, had all his faculties and not only read the newspaper every day but wrote for it … he was plum mystified by about 75 percent of the commercials.

Like, he didn't know what they were even getting at. Bud Light promised "Drinkability." "Isn't that a bare minimum for a beer?" Dad said without sarcasm.

He didn't even know what they were trying to sell. What in tarnation was "Go Daddy"?

Confused suspicion that the modern world is in one place and we're in another: I'm not there yet. Aunt Susy isn't there yet. But, Shel Holtz notwithstanding, we're all getting there.

And maybe this is one consolation about death in this shallow, high-tech society of ours: Maybe it's a little less sad to leave the party when you no longer know what in the world anyone is talking about anyway.

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