How do you know that you're getting old? You find that younger folks don't remember people and events you take for granted. The other day I ordered a "Cherry Garcia" at a well-known ice cream parlor chain. Readers of this blog know that I enjoy a good pun. To make conversation, I asked the youthful server if she knew who
Jerry Garcia was. She did not. Angling for an affirmative answer to restore confidence-hers and mine-I asked her who
Bob Dylan was. She reported that she had heard of him "in class." This response amused and depressed me for 36 hours. Pressing on with a nonrandom sample of young and not-so-young fellow humans, I inquired about
Imelda Marcos. No one had heard of her. Mind you, she is still alive. I figured there was little point asking about
Ferdinand. But, given a state of ego-depletion, I could not resist. One friend offered the
Archduke as a possible Ferdinand. I gave up. Well, not before asking about
Marcus Aurelius, whose equestrian statue sits on our campus. A friend who does not have the excuse of callowness offered the lover of
Cleopatra, but that would be
Marcus Antonius.
Today is the first day of class and we are supposed to know what the students do not know so that we can be informative. Grice demands it. Waste not. But that's getting ever more difficult. As the age gap widens, there are more things we know that they don't (without us doing any additional studying), and vice versa. With regard to the former, I am reminded of Professor Theo Harder, who taught sociology when I was a university student. He observed that anyone who has access to buried cultural knowledge can claim originality.
"Wer über verschüttetes Kulturgut verfügt, kann Originalität beanspruchen."
Afterthought: How did I get from Garcia to Dylan? I once saw the Dead perform in Autzen Stadium at the University of Oregon. Dylan opened for them. A fond memory and a nice tribute to the associative mind.
