The Gen X Male

The Breakfast Club - Promotional Photo

I was born too late to be a boomer.  That is too bad because the 1960's and 1970's would have been a much richer decade to be a young adult compared to the 1990's.  Pre-HIV, pre-herpes, pre-Reagan.  The clothing styles weren't the best, but the cars were pretty good.

So, I have to live in the Gen X group.  It is better than being dead, but kind of a lackluster group.  Sure, we have some great actors in it, but mostly devoid of anything of note.  All of the ennui is best summed up in a funny post at The Onion.com, Winona Ryder Finally Agrees To Sleep with Generation X. 

My favorite part of the story:

"I will cut my hair to its 1993 length, and we can talk about anything you want before we do it," Ryder said. "Fears for the future, your frustration at having to be part of the corporate machine, anything. We can even listen to period-appropriate music of your choice. Except for Soul Asylum. That is off the table."

Children of the so-called Baby Boomers, Generation X has been characterized as a group unable to speak about anything unironically, while also possessing a mistrust of authority and a longing to have sex with Winona Ryder. According to Ryder, this demographic deserves to have "at least one" of its thwarted hopes and dreams for itself actually come true.

Not many accuse the Gen X'ers of having an irony deficiency.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Goodnight - Dylan Thomas

Patty - 011211

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

- Dylan Thomas