In case you're worried about what's going to become of the younger generation, it's going to grow up and start worrying about the younger generation. -- Roger Allen
Recently I've been thinking a bit about being a member of an "older" generation. Then semi-suddenly two incidents brought it all home and gave me sufficient fodder for a blog post.
First came a friend's fascination with the TV sit-com Two and a Half Men in which Charlie Sheen plays an alcoholic whore monger. Yes, I know the show is technically about two brothers sharing a house with a ten year old son; but all of the storylines and dialog have to do with Charlie Sheen being an alcoholic whore monger while mirth and merriment ensue all around.
Now you have got to know that this show has caused screams of protest from those who find its content unfit for broadcast television. The rebuttal to those cries of moral degeneracy has been steady top ten ratings for the show since it began. So I watched half a dozen episodes. OK, I laughed a lot more than I cringed, but then I don't have any kids who might see it. Clearly lots of young, unknown wanna be starlets are getting much needed guest shots and showing as much skin as prime time allows. When I did feel a bit uncomfortable about the content, it was the writing not the visuals but then again I am still a guy, which means hot, young bimbos playing hot, young bimbos are at least visually satisfying. With each verbal indelicacy I reminded myself that I am of an "older" generation and I remembered what our elders thought of us during the 60s & 70s. Besides I did laugh.
Then last week Charlie was big news for going into rehab again, bigger news it seems than a conflagration in Egypt and adjoining parts of the middle east. Charlie in rehab again, the show on hiatus again, the show about an alcoholic whore monger, and you thought South Park was irreverent. Well enough of banal television, I will not be watching future episodes once Charlie is dried out, but do allow your kids to watch the boob tube without restrictions, after all it's better than finding out the local meth dealer peddles his wares in the public library; but that's another story.
Part two of this story comes to us via facebook. I saw a post from a old high school friend about the death of another high school classmate' again the theme of being part of a older generation. I dropped her a note, the old friend not the dead old friend, and reminded her of an incident we were involved in back now 46 years ago. She responded and told me a few details which I had not known and then she added: "It just seems life is not fair to everyone, I find it hard to believe Deborah has been gone nearly 20 years."
What? Gone twenty years? Deborah was my high school girlfriend, most of my adolescent 'firsts' involved her but wait, she has been dead for nearly two decades? My mind just didn't wrap itself around that one, my brain just kept spitting out that factoid - it simply did not compute. I hadn't seen her in over 40 years, heard not a word of news but still - "gone twenty years" . . .
I need a break, maybe catch The Big Chill on the oldies network before I head out to the seniors discount buffet at the local tribal casino, then maybe a few rousing rounds of bingo.
