Why Can't We Be Friends?

Petrified Dump: Circa 2006

Baby Boomers Ask Generation WhY?

The Baby Boomers saved the world. Remember? I forget the exact date, but it happened. It’s in the history books somewhere in between Columbus discovering America and our first George Bush winning the War on Drugs.

Back in the 60s and 70s everyone between the age of 12 and 29 was a radical hippy. Growing your hair long was better than diplomacy. It showed that you really cared. It was activism! And everyone’s hair was long – even the bald. Then one day they all got married and decided to have kids. The love and lust of this generation spawned me and my generation. The consensus was that we would all be super humans. Nothing could stop us from creating Utopia, not even infancy.

Unfortunately revolution is found in a recessive gene that skips a generation or something. Anyway, science and doing stuff is not a field in which my generation excels. Apathy, beer bongs, sitting, Tara Reid, and spending money, now these are things that we are good at. Give us some free time and we’ll waste it.

I wish history was this straight forward. But if the counterculture of the 60s was as ubiquitous as this crude painting would have it George W. Bush, class of ‘68, would not be our President today. Or maybe he would, but pot would be legalized, guns outlawed, and Dick Cheney would be Wavy Gravy or gay.

Instead we are here, discussing why my generation can’t pick up the slack and make equality an actuality. I’ve spliced together a lesson in history and science for all you fledgling polymaths out there: Youth is youth, no matter what the hour hand says on your clock. The chaotic clash of hormones, authority, and life make the cause the same chemical reaction each time a generation gets spit through the initial aging gauntlet. There may seem to be phase change every other generation. But just as ice is water, the youth still swim in their angst driven bodies wanting to screw everything – negatively, positively, and indecisively – they meet. Other than this the youth doesn’t really share a collective thought or purpose.

My generation might come off as somewhat temperate to the youth of yesteryear. But you are our parents, grandparents and impotent uncles. We’re a product of you and the world that you created. How do you blame the sum of your parts? Do you want us to save the world that you gave up on so long ago? Why is it that the youth is supposed to carry the torch when the aged decides to throw in the towel and have kids?[1]

It’s only when baby-boomers are staring at the wall of their cubicles in a fit of nostalgia, wishing they were still in college, marching on Washington, or occupying an administration building that fault is found in my generation. Maybe they just wish they hadn’t sold out.[2] As I see it, my generation has seen its mentoring generations fall early in bursts of futile flames and this may have taught us a lesson. We understand if we’re going to make it the long haul we have to do this dance with an eye on our pace. Granted, I have watched a lot of TV so my worldview may be deluded.

But the youth as a whole has nothing to say. I did an exit poll. Zeitgeists are bullshit. They are advertising for failure – a fleeting notion that the media uses to synopsize everything whirling about the world. I’m glad my generation is viewed as thinking nothing specific. This confuses the shit out of everyone – even us. But it gives us time to figure out our own individual path instead of trying to field questions of why we aren’t this and why we aren’t that. The answer is already out there: there is no united voice.[3] There never has been. People my age are everything – democrats, republicans, activists, metal-heads, born-agains, librarians.... Our thoughts and actions resist an encompassing definition. So why not call us lazy? It’s an easy description – a symptom of youth. Thinking about sex all day is exhausting. It’s nearly impossible to stand on two feet let alone save the world. Sorry.

Even though our generation carries a universal blank stare we are not oblivious. We’re an army of confused hard-ons. We see Iraq. We see the Sudan. We see New Orleans. We see the ills of world. And we have no idea what to do about them. Some kids don’t care. They’re moved to inaction by extreme personal comfort.[4] But others of us are moved to inaction by the burden of wanting to “save the world” with the conflicting knowledge that we don’t have the means.

This isn’t a cop out. What are we suppose to do? Reenact the 60’s like it was Appomattox? Massive marches on Washington don’t work anymore – the novelty wore off long ago. Johnson and Nixon might have feared a sea of odd kids hanging out on their lawn, but the people who now hold the power laugh. Bush’s administration is populated largely by the baby-boomers who hated their hippy peers. They are kids you never heard about, the squares, the ones that went to class and liked Nixon because he was a crook. They learned long ago that millions of marching liberals just smells funky.

We need something new. But what?

I don’t know. The only thing I do know is that these days that I can’t read the newspaper because the word on the world is splattered with bloody idiocy and greed. I can barely pay my bills and the fact that I am not saving the world is the only thing I can think about. I’m paralyzed by this. I’m 23 and feel utterly powerless. If anything, this is what drives my generation: the terror of being lost in a world that needs so much help. This is the frightening truth. The smart young activists are locked in their heads searching for a solution because change doesn’t come by through email and the old roads are closed.

I am disappointed. Am I disappointed in my generation for not saving the world in our first 25 years? No. I am scared that no one can. The fact that activism and trying to affect change for the greater good is now thought of as a stepping stone between puberty and a mid-life crisis is what kills me. Because it would be nice to have a mentor.

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[1] This burden will break the back of any generation. Atlas must be thought of as an allegorical figure representing the world community – not just the youth – lifting itself up.

[2] John Kerry, Rolling Stones, and all the rest of you rebellious kids that grew up, found millions of dollars and spent it on 14 BMWs, instead of using your power to affect change.

[3] What do the people that espoused peace, love and happiness have to say for themselves now that they control the world? Do you all have zeitgeist for your middle age?

[4] This is not an age specific symptom.

myPhone

It’s not that I’m not super psyched about this “new” iPod phone thing – the iPhone. I am. Really. It’s a bloodless revolution, which we could use right about now. But I’m little pissed off too.

See, I’ve been boner pumped for this product since my old roommate and I invented it nearly two years ago. We were stoned, his dog was running around his room, music tumbled out his little iPod speakers and then bang boom do the Thomas Edison dance, we had invented it. Make a phone with everything on it like a pizza or a bagel or hot dog. It – our iPod phone – would have phone, email, internet, iPod, video, maps, camera, GPS, maybe condoms and one thing that iPhone fatally forgot a water purification mechanism to keep all the world drinking pure ass water – don’t even think about stealing that gem Apple, we’ve got stoner patent on that. And now two years later this character Steve Jobs jumps up and steals our limelight at some conference in San Francisco playing a tosser Beatles song. I cry ‘foul’ for all the voiceless innovators – mainly myself and my buddy that doesn’t know I am writing this.

Hey, Jobs let this be a written warning to you and your precious Apple. We can either settle out of court – you give me two iPhones, a fully loaded MacBook and some stickers – or I can get super wild litigious and turn Apple into apple pie, apple sauce, sour apple, crapple, rotten apple, or the green apple splatters – any of those names make you want take a bite, dick head.

One footnote on the matter is that I believe my roomie mentioned the invention first to which I replied something like, “Yeah, bro, that’s what I’m talking’ about.” But I like to think of it as ours, since we were living together at the time and super close. And you know how really close girls share menstrual cycles well dudes, hombres, best friends forever share thoughts. It’s much cooler and another reason why chicks wish they had dicks.

One last thing Steve Jobs, here’s another idea you can’t have without paying me an entry level salary, put Oregon Trail on iPods. How hard is that?

A Selected Few Of A Slew Of Unsuccessful Cover Letters

Dear Human Resources,

Give me a fucking job. Thank you for you consideration.

Sincerely,

Umpity

* * *

Dear Human Resources,

Please consider me for the available position in your office. I believe my experience being “the man,” has prepared me for the competitive atmosphere that helps your company thrive.

Although I do not have any relevant work experience in your field being the man is an asset in dealing with all walks of life. For instance, last Saturday night I had sexual intercourse with this much older but nonetheless extremely attractive business women multiple times because as my associates claim I am the “fucking man.” This ability will serve your company well when dealing, merging, or laboring with a predominantly female business because I am able to get the job done multiple times and will do so late into the night if need be ;)

I would love to set up a time to discuss this position further. As the man, I do know of multiple positions and if you are a lady and would like to discuss these as well please let me know. I have about a hundred thousand or so references, some of whose names evade me at the moment, but they are all available upon request. Thank you for the consideration.

High-Five,

Umpity

* * *

Dear Human Resources,

Please consider me for the position of CEO at your Fortune 500 Company. I heard about the recent opening while reading the front page of my parent’s Wall Street Journal during my late breakfast this past Wednesday afternoon.

I was hung-over. I am 24 living at home and severely under qualified for this position. However, I can grow a beard and own two suits. I am also super desperate. Did I mention I am 24 and living at home? You probably don’t quite understand. You probably have a sweet spread of your own with things like beer, tequila, and condoms in your fridge. I’m not sure why the condoms are in the fridge but maybe that is why you have a job and I don’t. Girls probably come over and see your king size bed and swoon. (Sorry if you bring guys home but in my mind it is a major blonde named Sandy)

Anyway can I come over sometime? We can talk about the job then. I’ll wear a suit if you want. I know CEOs do this and I am prepared to change my style of dress to fit the role. But can you invite the blonde over and have her bring some friends that like guys that sleep in twin beds? I will bring any sort of alcohol you want. Even Zima. Thank you for the consideration.

Please,

Umpity