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How Far Away is Tomorrow?

Last Friday my brother Tom would have turned 41. The anniversaries of his birth and death always lead me to think about death and aging and what he might have done with his life if he’d been able to live it. Tom never became the GenXer that some thought we were. According to writer Joshua Glenn, my brother and I were actually something else.

As a direct result of mis-periodization, those of us born between 1964 and 1973 never developed generational consciousness. [snip] Hazy sense of generational identity, splintery culture — and on top of that, when the 1964-73 cohort were undergrads, deconstructive theory was all the rage in humanities departments. Small wonder, then, that this cohort’s collective disposition is accommodationist — i.e., in the cognitive-development, not the political sense of that term. The 1964-73 cohort shares, that is to say, a marked tendency to brood over taken-for-granted cultural, political, social, and philosophical forms and norms, not rejecting but self-consciously remixing these fragments into innovative new patterns. In honor of the 1964-73 cohort’s post-deconstructionist capacity for accommodationism, I’ve named it (us) the Reconstructionist Generation.

At least I’m not a Millennial. I feel sorry for those kids. The Kids Are Actually Sort of Alright: My screwed, coddled, self-absorbed, mocked, surprisingly resilient generation.

I could use five good things:

This afternoon was spent at the doctor’s office, enduring a battery of tests and exams, with inconclusive results. Lately everything is too much, all at once, with the impending move and minor nuisances piling up. But I’m taking a little break from all of that for just a spell, for a showing of Detective Dee and the Mystery of the Phantom Flame. Now that’s just what the doctor ordered.

Vanessa rawwwrrrr!

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