First KILTR blog post article from the comedian and comedy writer, broadcaster and leader of the Greater Shawlands Republic, Bruce Morton. Bruce’s GSR monthly cabaret event takes place on the first Sunday of the month, downstairs at The Bungo on Nithsdale Road, Glasgow.
My boy is 18 and he’s going to the prom. I said the what? He said the prom. God help us.
We sighed as a people when Halloween started to be trick or treat. This, we thought, is getting ridiculous. We recollected then how we cringed the first time anyone ever told us to chill. And now we say it, even to ourselves. I say it under my breath when I see a pink stretch limo take youngsters to parties.
And now we have the prom. To which the boy is, somehow, taking “the smokingest, hottest girl in school.”
I overheard him rehearsing conversation. Glanced round his door and saw him finesse smooth gestures in a mirror. Relax, I said. It’s only the prom. I suggested sample conversation: tell her that your mom and pop met at the hop. Ask her if she’ll wear your ring. Tell her you have a Chevy and you’ll take her to the levee.
He looked at me blankly then looked at his phone avidly: “It’s one of my bros”. I backed off and sat down to write this.
Is this encroachment inevitable? How do we stop it? Should we? The linguistic lurch to trick or treat doesn’t make me fret too much – our language has always been a great sponge – but we never used to have a prom. Now there is a prom.
I’ve never heard a high-school movie character tell the cheerleader he’s “got an empty.” I don’t think Americans buy a “carry-out” , far less take a bevvy to the levee.
Perhaps soon we’ll be celebrating Thanksgiving, from a European perspective – giving thanks for the safe disembarkment of those who fled from here on ships. Or even Independence Day, when we could celebrate how much American culture we consume, crave and copy.
It is not reciprocal, this. It’s not a cultural exchange. I’ve never heard a high-school movie character tell the cheerleader he’s “got an empty.” I don’t think Americans buy a “carry-out” , far less take a bevvy to the levee.
Here on the south side of Glasgow is a New York-style yellow taxi cab. Which you can hire. I glanced inside it while it was parked upside the sidewalk. A red, white and blue sticker on the back of the driver seat says God Bless America. It could be that the boy will travel to the prom in it. Or, who knows, he and his bros may go there in a stretch limo.
Either way and incidentally, he’s going there happy to be wearing a kilt. And I don’t know whether to call that irony or reassurance…
Article written by Bruce Morton, June 2012