The handcrafted banner above can only mean one thing: I’m adding a new regular column to the blog. This will be the column where I sit in my rocker on the porch and spout my unsolicited, senile banter as you scamper by, hoping old man Willy C. don’t see ya. I’ll do my best to use patronizing language in these posts. I’ll preface things with “when I was a kid” and refer to my readers (regardless of sex) as sonny, whippersnapper, or young man.
I hate the phrase “hook up.” Damn kids with your damn phrases.
Firstly, it has no concrete meaning. Slater and Jessie hooked up this weekend? Was it while they were making widgets at the whoosamawhatchit factory on thingamajiggy lane? I think I actually learn more from the verb “to be” than I get from “hook up.” Slater and Jessie are? Thanks, I actually learned more from that philosophical pronouncement than I did from the knowledge that they hooked up.
Secondly, “hook up” will be the subject of great mockery within 30 years. Remember how people use to “go steady” back in the day? Yeah, well some day your grandkids will laugh at you with the same patronizing attitude for “hooking up.” Of course, you wouldn’t know what it feels like to have your grandkids laugh at you; you’re just a punk whippersnapper who wouldn’t know a hard day’s work from a horse’s ass.
Get off my lawn with your “hook ups” you rapscallions.