A Surprising Super-power

Today I again thank John at The Sound of One Hand Typing for his weekly writing prompts there. One such idea this week was to write a post about the word “surprise”, so let’s go with that.

Color me surprised. The U.S. government thinks I have a “superpower”. Or at least one independent branch of it does. Because the National Archives are in the midst of a growing crisis… they have some 300 million digitized pieces of paperwork that need transcribing and fewer and fewer people are able to decipher them anymore. That, because the old ones, some as recent as the 1950s mind you, are mostly hand-written. Emphasis on “written”. And most of today’s youth can read that as easily as they could decipher Egyptian hieroglyphics. In fact, Suzanne Isaacs of the Archives calls reading cursive a “super-power”.! Wow, who knew I was so gifted with such a rare talent? Funny, when people have asked me if I could have one super-power, usually things that come to mind are like being able to become invisible or be able to fly or have a healing touch or perhaps have irresistible, magnetic charm for super-models (or at least was before I got hitched that is!) but I never really picked “be able to read curly handwriting.” But a super-power is a super-power, I guess, so lucky me!

It does point out a real problem though and illustrates another sign of the times. When I was in school, we had to learn how to “write”; we’d be chastised and probably lose grades if we handed in a report or test written in block capitals, at least until high school when some teachers preferred we typewrite our essays or reports. At the time, I was constantly praised for how neat my writing was; that’s now as long gone as the corduroy slacks I was usually sent to school in. Now should I actually “write” something, I have trouble reading my own work an hour later. I still do put down a lot of notes and thoughts on paper with pen, but I scribble them out in block letters. However, the grade school skill hasn’t left my eyes; I still have no trouble reading cursive. Unless it’s penned by someone of my current penmanship levels. And that’s always been a chunk of the population. One of the Archives spokespersons said going through page after page of old government forms, immigration paper, census data and so on was tough because of spelling mistakes, obsolete words or terms and of course, messy writing. “Justices of the Peace, their handwriting is atrocious!”, she exclaimed.

I should also point out back when I was in school, I think we just called that form of communication “writing” or “handwriting.” Presumably “cursive” only became the preferred term recently, since it provokes much cursing in young people who encounter it.

It’s logical that cursive is becoming a rarity in today’s computerized, digitized world… who (besides me I guess) still writes out notes for articles or random thoughts with a pen or puts a note inside a greeting card? Do you ever go to a grocery store and see anyone under-65 who’s not me with a shopping list on a piece of paper rather than their phone? I drive by Walgreens stores and wonder how many of their under-40 customers even actually know their logo says “Walgreens”? Many school boards dropped it from the curriculum by 1990, although recently some 14 states have added it back, including California for the very reason the Archives are describing. Whether its your grandparents’ old correspondence or the nation’s constitution, it’s better if people can actually read it and not have to take mere guesses or rely on someone else’s interpretation.

It makes me wonder just how many other super-powers I have without knowing it. Being able to tie up my shoes? Being able to place a call on a phone that has a dial instead of a touch-tone screen? Being able to find the number to call in a physical phone book? Maybe I will be Captain Codebreaker and Hollywood will make movies starring Ryan Reynolds, or some dude who’s considered a hottie these days, as me!

Yeah, “vivid imagination”, another one of my super-powers!

Oh, Brats!

Well I hope your new year is off to a good start and you’re staying warm wherever you might be… seems like “polar vortex” is already a phrase we could do without hearing again in 2025 and we’re only a week in! Anyway, as you know if you stop by here regularly, John over at The Sound of One Hand Typing lists some writing prompts every week and when I can, I take one and come up with something from it. Today I tried to take his suggestion of writing a post in just 13 sentences. Didn’t work. But I mention it because if you’re looking for ideas to write about, you often can find ones over at his site.

Oscar Wilde once said “there is only one thing in life worse than being talked about and that is not being talked about.” Oscar was a writer who was at once witty and wise, and as often happened he was probably spot on with that assessment. It came to mind this week when we watched a documentary called Brats . It was made by actor Andrew McCarthy, one of the leaders of the so-called “Brat Pack” in the ’80s.

For those who don’t know the name or aren’t from that era, the Brat Pack was a nickname dumped on a group of young (generally around 20 years old) actors that seemed to show up in all the same films, ones aimed at people around the same age or a bit younger – St. Elmo’s Fire, Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles, Fresh Horses and of course, The Breakfast Club. John Hughes often created them. McCarthy was one of the actors in the group, so too were Emilio Estevez, Rob Lowe, Judd Nelson and Jon Cryer as well as their female counterparts like Molly Ringwald, Demi Moore and Ally Sheedy.

They made popular films, particularly with high school or college kids, and the films made the young actors stars. But once New York magazine wrote about them and dubbed them “the Brat Pack” things began to change. They hated it and felt insulted, as several of them detail in the new film. Some, like Estevez were so annoyed and concerned by their nickname (which had been jumped on and used up far and wide by the media) that he didn’t want to be in movies with any of them anymore. He didn’t want to perpetuate the idea they were some little group onto themselves. To this day, some, like Nelson, seem to refuse to talk about the period or the moniker; of all those he interviewed, only Ally Sheedy seemed to have developed a good attitude about it all.

I kind of get it… to a degree. As one of their target audience back then, I liked the movies, like most teen lads had a bit of a crush on Ringwald and probably wished I could have been McCarthy or Lowe. But hearing them referred to as “the Brat Pack” made me assume they must be a bit spoiled or high maintenance. So what though? Many stars are that, why would they be all that different? I still liked their films.

What’s more, even I, at my age realized the name was a bit of a play on words and a tip of the hat to “the Rat Pack”. They were being compared to a new version of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. etc. And those guys were hugely popular , successful and had long careers. Seems like being compared to them might be a compliment in Hollywood, not a diss.

It put me a bit in mind of the term “yacht rock.” Many of the artists who made great records now referred to as that, like Toto, Steely Dan and the Doobie Brothers, seem to hate the term. It’s seen as diminshing their work and pigeon-holing them unfairly. All of which might be partly true… but then again, since the term has come into popular usage, any number of radio stations have switched formats to it and compilation records have come out. Artists that had become largely forgotten, like Ambrosia, Seals & Crofts and the Little River Band, have found renewed popularity and interest. Maybe being termed “yacht rock” is in fact a blessing for them. And maybe being part of the “Brat Pack” means we still remember Sheedy, Estevez, McCarthy and others and want to see their old, familiar films again and again. It means one of them can have a widely-viewed hour-and-a-half movie of just him talking to some of the others and reminiscing. So to paraphrase Mr. Wilde, maybe for an actor back then, the only thing worse than being in the Brat Pack would have been not being in the Brat Pack.

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