Boomer Blues

I visited a writer's web site the other day to read a bit. Everywhere I turned the articles were brief, harsh diatribes that turned important subjects into product reviews and opinion pieces. 

What was wrong with these writers? Didn't they understand who were their customers, their readers? I quickly voted with my feet, 'er mouse, and surfed on down the virtual highway.

Soon, I encountered an investment site.  It looked darned interesting, so I decided to register.  They had a strange glitch in their registration form.  You were supposed to select your birth year from a drop down box, but the list only went down to 1970.  Funny that someone hadn't pointed that out to them.

But as I looked around the site, I noticed something odd.  The bulletin boards were active, but filled with (what I thought were) sophomoric attempts to pick up anyone of the opposite sex.  

And the online articles seemed focused on job search skills - I mean ALL the articles.  Doesn't anyone on this site know how to get a job?  Or need articles on how to KEEP a job?  A nagging feeling started poking at me, so I went back and looked again at the home page for the site. 

Silly me, there was a big red X in the title...as in Generation X? And because I am slow, it began to dawn on me.  The site wasn't intended for me!

The entire website was aimed at a younger generation.

This experience keeps repeating itself. Over and over, I find I am a bit above the age limit targeted by some mainstream Internet sites.  Me! You know, of the "me generation"? 

When did this happen, when did we fall out of favor with the world?

For those of you Gen X-ers and beyond...you probably can't imagine how it feels to have the advertising world no longer pounding at your door, groveling to sell you this widget, that fast food, or makeup or song.  But for thirty years, the universe  was ours, what we wanted - was! 

The world (or at least the media) grew with us, promoting this centralist perception of ourselves. 

We were the Bubble Gummers, the Hippies, the Disco Queens, the Yuppies, we were Dinks, Super Moms and Single Dads.

We "Kept On Truckin'", riding skates with keys, "Cherry" muscle cars and Volvos.

Bell-bottoms were "groovy", midi-tops were "cool" and fringed vests, and love beads were "outta sight".  And we only gave them up for power ties and Birkenstocks.

We knew "a little dab'll do ya" and exactly what was "...stronger than dirt". 

Burgers were all "our way", and our coffee was "mountain grown". 

Our cars were filled with "tigers in the tank"  by "the man wears a star" while we sang along to "...like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony..."

We were the kind of kids to "eat Armour hot dogs" and could rattle off  "specialsaucelettucecheesepicklesoniononasesameseedbun" at the speed of sound. 

The answers were simple and the questions all rhymed.  We could "ask any mermaid you happen to see - what's the best tuna?" 

...or solve the mystery of "where's the beef?'

Our babies were delivered naturally and fed organically. 

We were environmentally liberal and fiscally conservative. 

Everything around us was aimed at us!

 The Captain and Mr. Greenjeans sent us off to school and The Cleavers were waiting for us when we got home.  We had Wally-Gator, Touché Turtle and Hanna Barbera cartoons.  Saturdays were "super" and we watched them with Johnny Quest until noon every week.

Kent State, Watergate, and Vietnam were part of every evening's dinner, as we fought and died and protested the war.

Elvis and McCartney, Jagger and Creedence shocked our parents, as they cringed at Strawberry Alarm Clock, The Animals, Deep Purple, and Pink Floyd.  Recreational drugs were washed down with pop wine.

When we sobered up, we invented "conspicuous consumption".

And we owned the cutting edge. 

We had James Bond, Apollo, The CIA, Star Wars, Trident Submarines, The Cold War, and Challenger. 

We even had Texas Instruments back when "TI" meant a $150.00 calculator.

We ran with the wind until, suddenly ...it got ahead of us.  We've slipped right off "the cutting edge". 

My LP's languish below my eight-track tape player and my son wants to sell them for a buck apiece on eBay.  

Bell-bottoms and hip-huggers are back in style, but find I need my waistband around my waist and my pants constructed of stretch material.

My cars have "four doors - no waiting" with an automatic transmission.  

I keep prescription medicine in the kitchen so I don't forget what to take and moved the mirrors out of the bathroom so I don't remember how it was.

Even the internet is no longer ours.  We founded it.  We use it.  But it isn't really ours.  It belongs to the future  ... and that ain't us.

Our parts are filled with cobwebs and mildew.

The web that caters to my generation is suddenly filled with geriatric sources and healthcare links; while those catering to those below us seem trivial and shallow ...just like what my parents said of my music and magazines.

Sadly, I've discovered...