For a large chunk of the 1990's, "Seinfeld" was my favorite television experience. Then it was gone. But it never really went away. It's still here, with endless reruns at 7 and 11 p.m. For a while I'd tune in, then satisfied that I'd seen them all, I stopped. A year or two went by. I happened to catch Seinfeld again late one night and I was hooked once more. The weird thing is that I seem to laugh in the exact same spots that I did back in '93, 96 and 98. I guess that means that I haven't changed. But now I notice (with increasing alarm) little clues that the world I live in is changing. It has to do with technology. It shows in a variety of ways: Kramer is hanging around Jerry's apartment. A phone rings; he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an extra-large portable phone. He yanks out something like three feet of antenna and talks to his caller. Wow. I look at my own portable phone and it's tiny by comparison. It has a solid, immovable antenna about two inches long. Elaine returns home, arms full of shopping bags, to find her phone ringing. She hears a weird fax noise and thinks it's just a wrong number. But then she discovers her answering machine is packed with squealing fax messages (plus a real one from George). Turns out that Kramer has signed up for year's worth of menus and gave the menu company Elaine's number thinking it was a fax machine. If Kramer had signed up today, he'd have the menus sent by e-mail. Oddly, there is little mention of e-mail on the show. Everything is done by phone. The four friends communicate frequently that way, and Jerry uses his stand up act to lambaste those who claim to have no time: "What do you mean you're too busy? You're busy, I'm busy, we're all busy. Pick up a phone!" Evidently, cyberspace was too cutting edge for these guys. "I've gotta get on that Internet," Jerry laments when he discovers the elusive Beth is available once more. "I'm missing everything." A faulty electronic organizer once made an appearance on the show. A grumpy Russian author grabs it from Elaine's hands and tosses it from a limousine window. I've never owned an organizer that wasn't made of paper. If I need to keep an appointment I use a paper calendar or even a yellow sticky note. Does anyone still use the electronic kind? I'm pretty sure Jerry didn't. Just look at that antique personal computer in his apartment. Yikes. And he never even used it, except maybe to pretend to use it. The tiny monitor and computer are fused together like some Radio Shack relic from the 80's. Connect that old thing to the Internet? I don't think so. Inwardly, I gasp as each little throwback. Can it be true? Is Seinfeld becoming dated? To see that old computer, the jumbo phone, the babbling organizer, gives me an odd, disconnected feeling, like watching Lassie's mother hand-crank the phone to summon the sheriff. It's only been a few years, for crying out loud. Does Seinfeld have to look so old-fashioned this soon? Come to think of it, George once tried to bring his friends up-to-date by selling them new computers. But, due to inept salesmanship and the "Serenity Now" disaster, not one sale was made. Seinfeld and friends will spend eternity in their simple, last-decade world. Is there anything wrong with that? Nah, I guess not. AUTHOR BIO: Don Kelley lives in New Hampshire, works for state government as a research analyst and has published articles in the Sunday (Concord) Monitor, NH ToDo magazine, and several websites. Some of his nonfiction and humor can be found at ThoughtCafe until 3/31/04 (sob!). Don enjoys exploring the state with his wife and young children, as well as walking, spinning and reading. |
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The Maternal Curse of Automotive Doom by John Walsh John Walsh cannot seem to get his dome lights to work -- ever. It may be linked to a family curse, or perhaps it's because he is simply too much like the fabled Maui grasshopper. |
I have never owned a car with an operational dome light. You may wonder how that could happen to a charming, sensible, middle-aged Maui guy. My mom can explain it easily. Remember the fable of the ant and the grasshopper? The ant worked hard and saved for the winter. The way Mom told the story, two things became clear: 1. The ant is the good guy. 2. Her son is not the ant. The grasshopper did not work hard and save for the winter. He read detective novels at the beach. The ant tried to warn his wayward friend about responsibility and honest labor, but the grasshopper sang and laughed. So the grasshopper and I grew up with pathetic bankrolls. We drove boring familymobiles with busted cab lights, while the ant cruised in an ethereal silver Volvo. He did much better with women. Dome light difficulties continued with my first, very own car. It was a 1964 Volkswagen "Bug" and the bulb died as I drove home from the dealer. This was back in the days when I thought Volkswagens were the most dependable cars in the world. Almost everyone thought that at one time, because Volkswagen of America spent one hundred billion dollars on this "aw shucks" low-key advertising campaign where they practically inserted Volkswagens into Norman Rockwell paintings. The ads featured a homely, tenacious car that started in the snow and typically ran for 275,000 miles. This myth survived until the Japanese began to produce genuinely dependable cars. After a few years of comparison, Americans realized the truth: Volkswagens broke down at the drop of a clutch. I personally blew three Volkswagen engines, but the dome lights always blew first. After the deaths of my VW Bugs, I graduated from college and took an entry-level professional job with the Social Security Administration. I got to wear a tie and be one of those officious civil servants that everybody hates. To reflect my importance, I purchased a new Pontiac. As I drove home after closing the deal, the dome light mysteriously flickered and faded, never to illuminate or assist in this lifetime. I rented a late model Subaru in Seattle and the cab light worked for three days...seventy-two hours still stands as a personal best. I borrowed a Cadillac from a naive friend and returned it, showroom fresh, except for an expired dome light. She consulted two electricians and spent $600 re-wiring the car, before resigning herself to years of motoring in gloom. So I have spent my entire life in cars without ever having that light-bulb-over-my-head feeling. I have ushered friends blindly into the back seat and allowed them to sit on snorkels and Chinese food and jumper cables. New, used, foreign or domestic--there is no escape from Mom's fable and the maternal curse of automotive doom. AUTHOR BIO: John Walsh moved to Hawaii from Seattle in 1986 and makes his living teaching deaf children for the Maui School District. John and his attractive, very tolerant wife enjoy traveling, snorkeling and lounging by the pool reading trashy novels. John has sold humor and features to numerous newspapers and magazines, including The Maui News, The Honolulu Advertiser, Seattle P-I, Seattle Woman, Sunday Woman, The Voice and Funny Times. You may send adoring fan mail or suitcases of krugerands to Mr. Walsh at jwalsh@mauigateway.com. |
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Seinfeld and the March of Technology by Don Kelley No matter how many reruns Don Kelley watches, Jerry and his gang remain chained to antiquated, late 20th century technology. If this aspect of the Seinfeld phenomenon is dated, can--gasp--the show's humor be far behind? |
For a large chunk of the 1990's, "Seinfeld" was my favorite television experience. Then it was gone. But it never really went away. It's still here, with endless reruns at 7 and 11 p.m. For a while I'd tune in, then satisfied that I'd seen them all, I stopped. A year or two went by. I happened to catch Seinfeld again late one night and I was hooked once more. The weird thing is that I seem to laugh in the exact same spots that I did back in '93, 96 and 98. I guess that means that I haven't changed. But now I notice (with increasing alarm) little clues that the world I live in is changing. It has to do with technology. It shows in a variety of ways: Kramer is hanging around Jerry's apartment. A phone rings; he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an extra-large portable phone. He yanks out something like three feet of antenna and talks to his caller. Wow. I look at my own portable phone and it's tiny by comparison. It has a solid, immovable antenna about two inches long. Elaine returns home, arms full of shopping bags, to find her phone ringing. She hears a weird fax noise and thinks it's just a wrong number. But then she discovers her answering machine is packed with squealing fax messages (plus a real one from George). Turns out that Kramer has signed up for year's worth of menus and gave the menu company Elaine's number thinking it was a fax machine. If Kramer had signed up today, he'd have the menus sent by e-mail. Oddly, there is little mention of e-mail on the show. Everything is done by phone. The four friends communicate frequently that way, and Jerry uses his stand up act to lambaste those who claim to have no time: "What do you mean you're too busy? You're busy, I'm busy, we're all busy. Pick up a phone!" Evidently, cyberspace was too cutting edge for these guys. "I've gotta get on that Internet," Jerry laments when he discovers the elusive Beth is available once more. "I'm missing everything." A faulty electronic organizer once made an appearance on the show. A grumpy Russian author grabs it from Elaine's hands and tosses it from a limousine window. I've never owned an organizer that wasn't made of paper. If I need to keep an appointment I use a paper calendar or even a yellow sticky note. Does anyone still use the electronic kind? I'm pretty sure Jerry didn't. Just look at that antique personal computer in his apartment. Yikes. And he never even used it, except maybe to pretend to use it. The tiny monitor and computer are fused together like some Radio Shack relic from the 80's. Connect that old thing to the Internet? I don't think so. Inwardly, I gasp as each little throwback. Can it be true? Is Seinfeld becoming dated? To see that old computer, the jumbo phone, the babbling organizer, gives me an odd, disconnected feeling, like watching Lassie's mother hand-crank the phone to summon the sheriff. It's only been a few years, for crying out loud. Does Seinfeld have to look so old-fashioned this soon? Come to think of it, George once tried to bring his friends up-to-date by selling them new computers. But, due to inept salesmanship and the "Serenity Now" disaster, not one sale was made. Seinfeld and friends will spend eternity in their simple, last-decade world. Is there anything wrong with that? Nah, I guess not. AUTHOR BIO: Don Kelley lives in New Hampshire, works for state government as a research analyst and has published articles in the Sunday (Concord) Monitor, NH ToDo magazine, and several websites. Some of his nonfiction and humor can be found at ThoughtCafe until 3/31/04 (sob!). Don enjoys exploring the state with his wife and young children, as well as walking, spinning and reading. |
