Two 11-year-old boys are sitting on my family room floor;
they have a card game spread out on a small, round, low-to-the-floor Japanese
style wooden table. The Capitals are
playing, but the boys aren't paying attention to the game, although one of
them is an avid fan—he’s even wearing an Ovechkin jersey. The boys, best friends since they were 4, are
convinced that something weird is happening, because they keep rolling dice in
combinations that add up to six, or drawing combinations of cards that also add
up to six. I’m tempted to ask them if
they know that President Kennedy had a secretary named Lincoln and President
Lincoln had a secretary named Kennedy, but that might be too much for
them. The Penguins just scored; cards
and dice are forgotten for now.
I can’t decide if I should buy a new phone or not. My phone is fine. But I want a new one. I keep shopping for new phones; I’ve even had
phones in my shopping cart, but I never actually complete the transaction. Other things we need, I think; other things
to spend money on. Still, the phone
keeps calling me (see what I did there?)
*****
While I shop for the latest and presumably greatest mobile device, I spend Saturday evening with two young boys who love everything old. They went through a typewriter phase a few years ago; now, they use giant Clinton-era camcorders to document their adventures. Like Snapchat for the Stone Age. They disagree on which is the best Beastie Boys song; my son's friend favors "Fight for Your Right," while my son holds out for "Paul Revere." Both of the boys agree that "Sabotage" is far inferior to their favorites. "I liked their old stuff so much better," my son says.
Now, during the intermission between the second and third periods of the game, the boys are watching old Harlem Globetrotters videos on an iPod, but they need a larger screen to do Meadowlark Lemon justice. They want to borrow this computer, so that's all for now. Let's go Caps.
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