Which school are you from?
By DON ADDIS
© St. Petersburg Times, published November 19, 2000
You hear the term "old school" a lot lately. It's a label used to distinguish traditionalist mentality from forward-looking (or present-dwelling) modernists.
Which school are you enrolled in? Are you a true hide-bound Memory Lane resident or is your old school tie just a clip-on? Is "old school" a positive thing or just a short form for "stick-in-the-mud"?
Here's a small test to help you determine if your school is from the black or the green chalkboard generation. You may be Old School if:
You smoke a pipe.
You use a shaving brush and mug.
You carry a pocket handkerchief.
You find yourself saying, "It's not like the old days," in response to everything that happens.
You still use the terms "juvenile delinquent" and "dope fiend" when talking about Kids Today.
When people speak of "The King," you think of Gable, not Presley.
You say, "They don't make things like they used to," when something breaks -- even if you've had it 30 years.
You think "mousse" is a French word for a large, antlered ungulate.
You think "automatic shift" is a football maneuver invented by Knute Rockne.
You're the first to stand for The Star Spangled Banner -- also Dixie, The Marines' Hymn and The Notre Dame Fight Song.
You wore a crew-cut long after Johnny Unitas quit wearing one.
You frown on people wearing numbered football jerseys in public if they're not actually on a team. Same for people who wear any kind of military clothing when they're not really in the service.
You wear boxer shorts because that's what the Army issued everybody in 1954, and it's still good enough for you.
You think people who have answering machines or electric pencil sharpeners are "high-tech nerds."
You don't have voice mail, caller ID or call waiting -- and you don't know what any of these terms mean.
You only recently learned those people in other cars are using cell phones, not electric shavers.
You wouldn't wear one earring if someone had a gun to your head.
You resent the price of movie tickets when they don't even give you a newsreel, a Captain Marvel serial or a Joe Doakes comedy short.
You know all the words to Phil Harris' That's What I Like About the South.
Every film star you ever admired has been dead 10 years.
You don't consider it a station wagon if it doesn't have wooden sides.
Your washing machine has a wringer.
Your dog fetches slippers, not Frisbees.
To you, "New Age" means turning 50.
You think Truman was the last of the decisive presidents.
The clothes you've always worn are coming back in style for the third time. What does "retro" mean, anyhow?
You still say Joe Louis had a lot more class than Muhammad Ali.
You just realized how long it's been since you've seen the milkman.
You consider the colorization of old black-and-white movies to be on the same level of vandalism as painting a goatee on the Mona Lisa.
Goatees, incidentally, were meant to be worn by guys like Satan, foreign shrinks, the Sheriff of Nottingham and Vincent Price, not regular guys.
You know the Great Spirit intended for the Colts to be in Baltimore, the Braves in Boston, the Athletics in Philadelphia, the Rams in Los Angeles, the Lakers in Minneapolis and the Dodgers, by neddy dingo, in Brooklyn.
You think "floppy disk" is a back condition.
You can keep your prejudices while all about you are losing theirs.
"If a Beethoven's Ninth CD is played in the woods and nobody hears it, is it still great?"
"Jesus must be in prison. Seems like that's the only place crooks keep finding him."
"We were accused of home-town officiating. I think they just didn't like our referee-eligible pass play."
"Things change. Things stay the same. I don't know which is worse."
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