The More Things Change

I recently got rid of my last stereo receiver. For those of you of a certain tender age, that’s a big black box that you plugged speakers and other components—like a CD player or turntable—into and which put sound into your speakers. The past was truly a terrible place.

Getting rid of it is about more than simple technology, though. It’s just the latest example of shit I used to be obsessed about that I no longer care about at all. Whether this is personal growth or senility is an exercise for whoever’s reading this. All I know is, I used to work extra shifts at my part time jobs to be able to afford a humongous stereo system, and two decades later I just gave away my last link to that person. And, honestly, I’ll never look back, because I haven’t used that receiver for more than a few minutes at a time in years.

This has nothing to do with technology. There’s no big point, either, no sweeping generalization about people or society. I’ve just changed, and it’s weird to stand back sometimes and realize it. I can remember the first stereo I ever had, a terrible cheap thing bought from Sears (where the Somers family got all their supplies) that was combination turntable, dual cassette deck, radio, and 8-track. 8-Track. Look on my works ye mighty and wonder what in fuck.

Still, I loved it. It was a stereo. I suddenly had the ability to curate my own personal soundtrack, and I spent a good 20 years curating the hell out of it. And then, slowly, in stages, I fell in love with MP3s and Spotify and the convenience of digital music, and at the same time bought a home with shared walls and realized how hell is other people’s music. And so I lost interest in stereos. It just happened.

The Jacob deGrom Effect

When I was younger, I was seriously into baseball. As much as that makes me a cliché—ooh, white man loves baseball!—it is what it is. I used to wear a baseball cap every day. I watched lots of games. I knew stats off the top of my head.

And sometime around 15 years ago, I sort of lost interest. Then I was in denial for a while. But now? I accept it. I just don’t care much about a game I once lived and breathed.

Part of it is the way the game has changed, that’s true. The fact that Jason deGrom’s 2018 season is making him a serious contender for the Cy Young Award is just wrong. He’s an incredible pitcher. He’s very talented. He’s having a great year, technically. I wish him well and millions of dollars. But a guy on pace to win 10 games shouldn’t win the Cy Young unless he’s instrumental in getting his team to the playoffs. And as a long time Mets fan I can say that the Mets are not going to make the playoffs this year.

It’s also the focus on role players, the lack of complete games, the drugs and performance enhancements, the fact that I feel like I’ve seen everything the game can show me. It’s all me. Plenty of people still love baseball and good on them. For me, the most notable thing here is the fact that I once knew every single player in the game, and now I don’t think I can name more than a handful.

Shifting Gears

Something else I used to be obsessed with: A car. I used to feel like my legs were broken when my car was in the shop, and whenever I didn’t have a car, I would walk around and lust after cars. Today? Haven’t had a car in years, and don’t miss it. Actively regard cars as a pain in the ass I don’t need.

Again, this isn’t some statement. Many people need cars to live. Many people legit love cars and enjoy them. What’s remarkable about it, to me, is the way I’ve fundamentally changed. Because other people don’t seem to have shifted to quite the degree that I have. I don’t know what that means; it’s quite possible that it means I am a lazy or shallow individual whose interests and passions were never all that deep or powerful to begin with. It’s just remarkable to realize that Today Jeff is so fundamentally different in so many ways from 1998 Jeff that we wouldn’t recognize each other.

Of course, the other way Today Jeff and 1998 Jeff are different is the fact that 1998 Jeff thought drinking Coors Lite and Jack and Cokes was acceptable adult behavior. If I met 1998 Jeff in a bar today, I would punch him in the nose.