Over the last however long it's been since I last cared about the progession of time, I've been reacquainting myself with my old friend television. I've caught up with programmes old and new that I've either been meaning to watch for some time (Firefly, Happy Endings) or haven't seen in some time (Fawlty Towers, Friends), or have seen fairly recently but due to the sheer scale and complexity of the plot I've had to rewatch a couple of times whilst reading complete episode synopses just to make sure I can actually follow what's going on (Game Of Thrones).
It was during a recent rewatch of several Simpsons episodes, however, where the point of this ramble originated. Of course, it could be said that The Simpsons is a show that has stood the test of time, but all that really means is that its audience still finds the older episodes amusing. The thing is that as the show has gotten older, the audience has gotten older too, and "standing the test of time" is really just a fancy way of saying "I remembered this then and I remember it now" as some faint form of nostalgia. Essentially, the point that I'm dragging these words towards is one that struck me when laughing at minor gags that involved outdated technology; primarily video tapes and audio cassettes.
As much as I hate using other people's children as examples, I often find myself imagining how my young niece and nephew might hypothetically react to such comic gems of the 90s if they were to be subjected to these old cartoons at some point over the coming decades, which - to be fair - they probably will be... by me.
"Hey kids, come watch this animated show about a funny yellow family and all their friends and the super-hilarious situations and mishaps they get involved in."
"But we already told you," they cry in unison, "we've had enough of you trying to relive your teenage years through our eyes, uncle. For Christ's sake, you're forty-two! Leave us alone!"
"But this is a funny one, guys," I retort as I navigate the endless DVD menus to play one single episode without Spanish subtitles or a hidden audio commentary track. "Homer sings in a barbershop quartet and they put their songs on vinyl records. Meanwhile, Marge distracts the kids with Homer's voice on an audio cassette which gets garbled up and freaks them out."
I can barely contain my amusement, speaking through gasps of breath and tear-filled eyes as I slap my knee at the joviality of it all.
"We don't care about any of that," they still seem to speak in unison since my brain can't decide between them over which one I like more in this hypothetical fantasy. "We just want to read our laser-vision books in three seconds and go hoverboarding down by the grand carbon fibre statue of the almighty Global Lord Bieber."
The rest of the vision becomes hazy at that point, although I do know that the kids foolishly neglect to take their protective shin guards with them and that I cry into my palms watching that Simpsons episode whilst still being able to sing along with every word of "Baby On Board".
The reasons I default to using those kids in this hypothetical situation come down to a) familial proximity and mutual knowledge of each other's existence, b) the idea that they simply weren't around throughout the 1990s, and c) the fact that they're currently being raised in a world of iPads and high definition. At some point towards the end of my shared generation, those quaint notions of obsoleteness will themselves become obsolete, as the next lot of humans after us will fondly reminisce about mobile phone recycling and physical screens that were only confined to a 16:9 aspect ratio. And as they slowly say their goodbyes to our dying generation, they'll take comfort in the shared virtual world as operated by an imbedded brain chip.
So really, what point was there in me trying to progress anyway?
