So, the other day, Dallas brought home this thing.  And I say “this thing” cause that’s exactly what it was.  I think it was from Satan.  Or God.

I don’t know, I’m not a professor.

The “thing” was something you plugged into your XBOX 360 and then…it found it’s way into your soul.  It’s called Kinect, I think.  And what it is is basically a Wii without the hand controller.  It reads your movements 3-dimensionally.  It videotapes you and your spirit in real time.  The game he  bought with this Ray-Bradbury-inspired device, involves a bunch of cheetah cubs running around on an island of happiness.  You are not a cheetah cub.  YOU ARE THE GOD OF THE CHEETAH CUBS.

Let’s say you want to throw your cheetah cub a ball.  You just fucking act like your throwing a ball and then a ball is thrown on the screen and your cheetah cub goes to fetch it.  Let’s say you want your cheetah cub to come back.  You say “Cheetah cub come back!” Not into a microphone, not into the XBOX.  You just fucking say it into the air around your head…and the cheetah cub comes back to you.

There’s a section where you can play Soccer with your cheetah cub.  Volleyball.  Frisbee.  You can buy your cheetah cub food from some sort of coked-out-monkey and then you get to wrestle with your cheetah cub over the food.  No remotes.  No nothing.  Just the fucking future.

So, Dallas teaches the boys this game.  Not that you have to.  Once you are Lord of the Cheetah Cubs, pretty much all hell has broken loose.  Christine and I literally sit with our mouths hanging open.  Dallas smiled slyly at his ability to bring his kids such joy.

Pilot played around with the cheetah cubs for about 45 minutes before announcing…”I’m bored!”

I’m bored.” he says.  So I say…

“I want you to understand something.  I lived during the time when “alarm clock” and “radio” were not synonymous.”

This is true.  I remember when my dad came back with this weird looking box with a digital clock and with lights and buttons and he told me…“You can listen to the radio on this.”

And I, in my eight year old voice said:

“Listen, I get what you’re doing here.  I get you’re playing a game with the “silly, little” kid.  But you’re forgetting something.  I know what an alarm clock is and I know what a radio is.  And unless you are some sort of magician, you cannot combine the two atoms that make these separate organisms function – in some sort of warped fusion that would make it possible for me to wake up to Power 103.”

But it did happen.  It was true.  It was the future.  And watching Pilot grow bored with this unspeakable technology agitated me to no end.


I know what dubbing tapes is.  I’ve experienced that.  I know how you have to position your fingers just so over the PAUSE and RECORD buttons on the my dual cassette player at the end of a song.  I know what it is to record something from the radio onto a tape.  (Actually…I never figured that one out.  But I remember the day when I realized it was a possibility.)

Every once in a while, I hear someone say in a nasally voice “Where are the flying cars?  I thought there would be flying cars by now.  I saw “Back to the Future II” and the future was 2015 and there were flying cars.  And there were jackets that freakin’ dried themselves.  This is bullshit.”

Let me assure you all, that for old people like me, the future is here.  And it is as unremarkable as the dual cassette player.  Or at least, it’s as easy to get over.

Pilot went and slumped himself down on the couch and we sat there staring at each other.  I repeated my point.  “I was born in a time when radios were just radios and alarm clocks were just alarm clocks.  What do you want??  WHAT MORE COULD YOU WANT?”

Pilot looked at me and said “What’s a radio?”