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You are here: Home / General / The Road to Becoming a Curmudgeon

The Road to Becoming a Curmudgeon

August 25, 2006 By Al Martine

I can hear the interviewer clearly in 2050 (in my head)

Interviewer: “So Mr Martine when did you realise you were starting to become out of touch with the younger generation?”

Me: “August 25, 2006, Chip. See that’s the day when my science education was deemed incorrect and Pluto lost its planet status. It started a downward spiral of becoming more out of touch by the year. Now, when asked I no longer know the proper mnemonic trick when naming all nine, err, eight.”

The interview will most likely go on to discuss how I think today’s ‘music’ is reprogrammed crap and yearn for the days of Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer, while hope to see more quality movies like Evolution coming to the big screen.

It’s not just science that I’m out of touch. When it comes to language in business I’m in the 1950s as well. See, I loath business speak. Up-skilling, strategical and transformational should be filed along with Beta, DNC political policies and ‘The New Coke’ in the giant circular file destined for the dump. I can’t bond or even respect people who regularly use such non-sense and then feel they’re cutting edge.

Yet, I digress. Today is dedicated to our little pal, Pluto.

Old friend, like many corporate policies you’ve become a victim of people who have far too much time on their hands, and I apologise. We will continue to think of you and fight against the new ideas because, like the metric system, we just like the old way better.

You’ll always be a planet to me. Yes, you’re a little weird sphere crisscrossing the galaxy circling the sun every 248 Earth years, but that adds a flavor and context to the Milky Way. And, it will be missing if you’re gone.

Sadly, this rally cry will be read by about 50 people so it won’t lead a revolution but to me, it makes all the difference. So in the late future when I’m in black socks and sandals carrying a metal detector on the beach of southern Florida and a little kid asks, ‘Hey Mister, how many planets are there?’

I can confidently answer, ‘Where’s my pants?’

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