Open Writing

Anyone who has read my columns knows I’m of advanced age, which is the kindest way of putting it. But I’m not brain dead, and I think I’m pretty much in touch with current affairs and trends, though almost daily I’m brought up short by an encounter with something that has clearly passed me by. Such an event occurred today.

I was waiting for my wife outside a store that sells greeting cards and novelties, and to pass the time I started to read some signs in the window. Two of them in particular caught my eye and piqued my curiosity. One read “We Have Illy Bandz!” The other announced “We Have Singing Balloons!” “Illy Bandz” surely must be a new, boy rock band I thought, and for that matter, so might “Singing Balloons.” The store probably had the latest releases for both groups.

But wait a minute, this wasn’t a music store, or even close. I had to know the truth. I stepped inside, setting off a loud doorbell, which startled the two, rather frail, older ladies who were in attendance. “Can we help you?” said one, adjusting her pince-nez.

“Oh, just a question – actually a couple,” I replied. “What is or are Illy Banz?” The look that crossed her face spoke volumes. “What kind of a nut do we have here” it said. In my own defense, it turned out that the sign should have said “Silly Bandz,” but even allowing for that I was no wiser.

“Well all the kids are wearing them. They’re all the rage,” she went on, handing me a clear packet containing multicolor rubber bands in different shapes – rabbits, stars, bells etc.

“Well then, what about ‘Singing Balloons’?” I asked.

“Oh, they sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and things like that,” she replied.

“But how, and under what circumstances?” was my follow-up query.”

“I have no idea how,” she sniffed, “But they do it when you touch them.” Resisting the temptation to respond with a salacious remark, I hastily backed out into the street, where, thank God, the sun was shining and the traffic was flowing, just like any other day.

Returning home, I thought it wise to do a little Googling, thinking it might quiet my troubled mind. Sure enough, there they were; dozens of links to Silly Bandz, including one from a vascular surgeon stating that kids who wore them risked the onset of gangrene, due to the the “Bandz” restricting blood flow in their hands. “OK, so now we’re getting back to reality,” I thought.

Apparently, just as the storekeeper had said, young children are collecting what are essentially bright colored rubber bands, cut into a variety of shapes, and wearing them on their wrists. Already there is something of a scale of collectability, though I’m not privy to what constitutes the top ten, or why.

Singing Balloons were still bothering me. In the first place, if it was Silly Bandz, why wasn’t it Singing Balloonz. True to style, Google knew all about them also, and offered me a mine of information, including a link to a 28inch Hannah Montana balloon! Who or what is Hannah Montana anyway? Just kidding. A link I decided it would not be wise to pursue stated, “Donghoon or mini Changmin's on the phone with noona fan and singing Balloons.” No, no, best leave that one to the truly curious.

Being of a technical turn of mind, I have been trying to figure out the connection between touching one of these balloons and the “music” that results. Then I realized that the technology has been around for a while, though not connected. Musical greeting cards unfortunately have been available for a few years. I say “unfortunately” because choosing a card these days, not only involves finding a suitable verse amongst all the doggerel, but also an acceptable tune, thus exacerbating the congestion in the card display isles.

Equally well established is the technology needed to activate the music – finding your car keys by clapping your hands; switching on a table lamp by touching it, etc. All that was necessary to create the singing balloon was to connect the two techniques, and there are plenty of under employed PhD’s in the dark, back streets of Taipei and Shanghai, who are capable of doing that.

But the question remains - why? Nor can I fathom why a rubber band should suddenly become a collector’s item amongst all the trashy, plastic silliness that toy and gift stores offer these days. Risking eternal damnation and a fatwa on my head, I posit that grandmothers are to blame. Standing behind these dear ladies in the checkout line of one of the gigantic superstores here, I’m appalled at what I see piled in their shopping carts.

If one of them becomes aware of my fascination with her purchases, hopefully not knowing what is going through my mind, she explains that she is about to go north to visit her multitudinous grandchildren, and must take a gift for each one. Anything more sensible, and therefore more costly than a singing balloon, or a bag of Silly Bandz, would put a severe strain on her social security income. I bow my head in shame for my uncharitable thoughts.

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