The Incoherant Ramblings of a Poetic Compulsive: September 2006

My workplace requires a minimum of four hours of “diversity training” annually. Four hours of employer-enforced homage paying to the liberal gods of whining, complaining, political correctness, anti-family propaganda, gay agendas, and brainwashing. If their goal was for me to wake up the next morning to nightmares of losing my job to a completely unqualified individual in the name of affirmative action then congratulations boss, you’ve officially scared me into submission. Anyway, without going too far down that path, my point is that some of this training is a little easier to stomach than others. The “Generations At Work” training, for example, that I took last year was full of sorts of stereotyping and broad statements but instead of being specific to gender, race, handicap, or sexual preference, it specifically targeted ages, agism, and the fact that my workplace is primarily composed of baby boomers and the new employees coming in are 30 years younger than them. The “teacher” (term used loosely) spent most of the time speaking directly to said boomers and trying to explain why Gen-Xers, and Gen-Nexters act, talk, socialize, and think the way they do.

Wikipedia defines Generation X as anyone born between 1969 and 1988. The class curriculum however defined Generation X as 1965 to 1980 and by its definition I was/am a member of Generation X, though I’m likely equally influenced by the pop culture and news-worthy happenings of GeneratioNext as well (1981-2000). Wikipedia I think really does a better breakdown of the generational ranges, as they display some significant overlap between them. Technically, according to Wiki, I’m part of the “MTV Generation,” a subset of generation X born between 1975 and 1985. I find that to be depressing and ultimately offensive, but whatever. Instead of Generation Next, Wiki uses the term Generation Y to describe those born between 1977 and 2003. So you see, technically, being born in 1979, I’m a member of all three (and yet, somehow, none of them). It’s like those tests you take that are so prominent on Myspace that tell you if you’re left-brained or right-brained, introverted or extroverted, more like Screech, Zach or Slater. The analytical side of my brain that likes the breakfast cereal aisle in the grocery store really loves that kind of stuff (but the kid in me craves the frosting).

So today’s blog is about age and pop culture. I satisfactorily and mathematically have proven to myself, this very day, that I am most decidedly, getting old. Even now as I write this, I am celebrating my last few precious hours as a 26 year old. It is my understanding, and my belief that the de facto standardized definition for the term “early twenties” is the age range betwixt 21 through 23. The age of 20 frankly doesn’t belong to “early twenties”, because if you’re 20 years old, you’re technically not “in your twenties”. You’re just 20. I think that’s fair, and most of you I’m sure you would agree. So if we look at “the twenties” as the ages of 21 to 29, it’s easy to compartmentalize them into subcategories. “Mid twenties” obviously picks up at 24 and ends at 26. Which means tomorrow I’m officially in my “late twenties”. At 26 I was closer to 30 than 20, and that came with its own mental baggage and emotional abuse. But now, being officially late twenties, well I might as well be 30. And while 30 in and of itself doesn’t feel old, it sure sounds old.

But it’s more than just a numbers game. It’s crossed over to the right side of my brain as well. My appreciation for art, which really begins and ends with music, has matured to the ranks of “fuddy-duddy” I think too. Or the darned kids these days with their baggyish pants and skating boards would have me believing as much (I squeal aloud as I reposition my teeth and feebly shake my cane in the air). As the archetypes of every generation long before have stated of their successors, I too call out in the name of all irritable, belligerent adults with eyes squinting and covering my ears in pale platitudes of antipathy and aversion; and with ancestry behind me backing my every syllable from which I once defended myself; I now stand and declare:

What is up with music these days?!?!?!
(and with that one single statement I drive the final nail in the proverbial coffin that is my epic quest from hip mid-twenties to prehistoric late-twenties)

Prepare yourself for an earful of opinionated goodness now. I think the main reason I have no desire to associate myself with the title “Generation X”, other than the fact that term is associated with latchkey kids glued to their video game consoles with no ambition or ability/desire to integrate with the ‘real world’…is their music. Let’s face it, 80’s music with a few pleasant pockets of exception, doesn’t withstand the test of time (pardon the cliché). Talking Heads, Flock of Seagulls, Depeche Mode, Toto, Quiet Riot, Bangles, The Knack, Def Leppard, Duran Duran, even Tears for Fears (RIP) simply don’t do anything for…well, for anybody really. Whether it’s “new wave” music, synthpop, 80’s techno, or butt rock it’s rarely ever addressed in conversation as anything but a comical reference to a pop culture time that had seen its hay day and nobody has any desire to see that return. The keytar never had a chance.

But the music of my youth, the music my generation listened to on the radio as teenagers from 1994 to 2000, at least to my mind, is different. While certainly out of style today, it doesn’t have that same embarrassing quality that the Breakfast Club music icons are packaged with. Weezer, Pearl Jam, Everclear, Bush, Radiohead, even the grunge scene is all still listenable music in my own humble opinion. Even baby boomers, a group which I am surrounded by presently, admits the music of the 90’s as a whole is much better than what came out in the 80’s.

And while today’s music doesn’t have that same embarrassing quality that music from the 80’s has, it just doesn’t feel on the same level as the average album release in the late to mid 90’s either. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m too old now and the music is no longer written for my generation, hence it doesn’t seem as appealing to me as the music that was written for my generation. It really comes down to marketing and the fact that it’s kids between the ages of 13 and 19 that are targeted by the record labels for the most part. I think it’s mostly that age group that defines the music scene any given year because they’re the targeted consumers. I’m not saying anything here that isn’t common knowledge and hasn’t already been stated ad nauseum by others in the blogosphere. But the average cost per byte for disk space these days has gone down so low that I don’t even mind reiterating it one more time for the world to read.

So there it is folks. There’s my plea for my generation and its music when compared to its predecessor and its successor. And justification to myself for why my iPod is half-filled with music that came out during the 6 years that I was the age of the targeted music consumer market.

Coincidentally I’ve heard the book “The Greatest Generation” by Tom Brokaw is a pretty good read about the generation that fought in WWII and experienced the great depression (my grandparents’ generation). I’m considering picking it up and reading, in spite of the fact it was written by Tom Brokaw. If anyone’s read it, I’d love a review on it. So I leave you with these final thoughts. Remember me, as I experience yet another birthday and leave the ranks of the mid-twenties. If you’re 15 and reading this…laugh now you poor wretch. Laugh while you still can. Laugh till it hurts and then realize that some day you’ll need a diaper change from laughing that hard. And yes, I’ll get there before you do but I’ll be done with it before you are too. And to my loyal readership, I’m signing off for the last time as a 26 year old. There’s a slice of sugar free chocolate cake and a scoop of low fat vanilla ice cream with my name on it.

Goosfraba.

:Bazooka-Joe

Bazooka-Joe made it so at 4:12 PM | 7 class clowns in the back of the class were bored from throwing pencils in the ceiling and paused long enough to comment on this post

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Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Age Before Beauty