comprehension

I read all my previous years of PAX posts and would like to inform you that I have described the experience inadequately.

Whether this is me being too close to it, lacking sufficient word-smithery or the direct result of interference by some divine pantheon of animated gaming forces I cannot tell you. I only know that my detailing of what Jason and I did and saw during the course of those 3 sweet days every year is merely the sketch of the backside of the dragon's whom we were riding.

My description is lacking to the point of more resembling a lie than truth. It is like Achilles twittering "Swimmin'!" while being dunked by the heel into the River Styx.

But yet I will try once more to scratch into electrical stone the meaning and happenings of the past weekend. If not by direct exposition, but by a slow trodden path about the indescribable thing, like sandy foot prints visible around the base of an invisible obelisk of awesome.

(PAX also apparently makes me try to write like Tycho, so sad.)

The good news, is that Jason and I have escaped the dehydrating embrace of the PAX-flu, a dodge I attribute to my wife's insistence that I adhere to some basic hygienic practices. So fear that no more!

My story begins on the Saturday night before the epic stand-fest that was that night's concert, we had dutifully joined in congress with the prevailing meat queue to insure that we would get to stand so close to the stage that we would stand through all 6 hours of the show for fear of losing our FIFO'd birth-right.

Two interesting things happened in line, the first is that they had hired a company to entertain us while we stood in a drab concrete walled room. To do this they hired a company who employed a fascinating mix of improv comedy, 1970's teletype terminals, internet videos and interactive cell phone txting technology, and it all really worked.

I introduce that strange business concept to setup my much more mundane story. Behind me in line was a father and teenage son. Presumably the son was too young to be out at a concert that was going to go well after midnight, so he was being chaperoned. As we stood in line we were shown some iconic internet videos and got to "txt" which one we wanted to see.

While I found watching those videos enjoyable, I was far more enraptured by the son's attempts to imbue his father with the necessary context for the "things" he was seeing.

It was smug satisfaction at first to be sure. Me getting to lord over my near complete cultural internet knowledge over this lowly soul. However after the third video the son gave up, stating simply "Yeah, there is no way I'm going to be able to explain this to you", this was when my feeling of superiority flitted away, a cold hard thing sliding into its place. Slowly the realization that one day, my son would be enjoying something completely incomprehensible to me began to dawn.

I know this should have been an obvious revelation, circle of life and such, but it still shook me. Some people worry about becoming less able as they age, becoming less deft of mind. Apparently I fear the one day where my internet searches which result in my finding funny videos to watch dwindle to a trickle and then to a dusty dry river bed. A day when I failed to find something on the internet funny...

Perhaps one of these days I'll get around to dealing with the fact that I'll eventually get too old to wear a hoodie with a robot on it too. =)