Generation S

It seems that every generation has some symbol that represents their ideals and dreams something that crystallizes their moment in time. Be it flappers from the Roaring Twenties or the image of a daisy being placed in the barrel of a National Guards’ rifle. The whole attitude and flavour of those times can be expressed with these images. Being a child of the end of the Baby Boom, I was not really a part of the boom itself just the trickle at the end. I was not a true child of the sixties and wasn’t really a child of the seventies, I was kind of floating somewhere in between Woodstock and Disco, not quite beads and peace signs and certainly not Italian slip-ons and satin suits. All in all, a very disconcerting place to be. A sociologist has recently labeled us as the Generation Jones, which is slang word meaning an intense longing, some how that doesn’t quite ring true to me. The only intense longing I had when I was in my teens, certainly can’t be written about here.

As with most things, as you think of these generational reminders they become more and more apparent to you as you become more and more aware of them. It seemed every thing I saw connected me with a thought or twinged a memory about someone elses moment of time.

A number of years ago my wife and I were musing over this at our dinner table, just reminiscing with the kids about the events of our time. Things that I thought may even finally define our generation. We talked about the music that we listened to, the cultural impacts that occurred and the entertainment we watched as we grew older. I thought the kids would be full of questions. We told them of some of the movies that we wanted to rent for them, among them maybe 2001, A Space Odyssey, maybe a Clint Eastwood movie or two. We played some tunes for them, but yet they seemed pretty blase about the whole thing, so we asked them weren’t they interested in some of our generational icons? Our oldest child, John looked up and said, “It’s not like we don’t care, but it is a little old news, Dad.” Then as a concession to us, John said, “What do you think about this?” And as he creased his eyes into a scowl, he did a good visual impersonation of Clint and said “Go ahead, make my day.” Then he did an admirable job of singing the main musical sequence of the title song of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly with the Steph and Cat weighing in with the wa-wa’s. I looked at the girls and said, “You know about this stuff too?”, “Yeah.” They said together. “And I thought the big black thing in 2001 was way cool.” Said Stephanie. “Yeah.” Replied Catherine, “I liked the way it made people smarter”. I looked at my wife and shrugged my shoulders. “Do you know this song?” I went to the computer and clicked on Won’t Get Fooled Again by The Who. They started to sing along and even attempted the best known scream ever recorded on an album. Feeling a little frustrated, I said, “Ever hear of Grand Funk Railroad?” John looked at me and said “We're An American Band.” “Jefferson Airplane?” I asked. “White Rabbit.”

This started a flurry of questions and answers.
“Jefferson Starship?”, “We Built This City.”
“Wings?”, “Ah, they were nothing after McCartney left.”
“Planet of the Apes?”, “The Statue of Liberty.”
“Psycho?”, “The shower scene.”
Finally, I threw out, “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida!!” With an almost sinister smirk on his face John sat back and said, “In the Garden of Eden, baby.”

Defeated now, I asked, “Where did you guys learn this stuff from. It certainly wasn’t from your Mom or I.” John said, “I dunno. We just know about them”. “Where from?” I asked. In unison, they replied, “The Simpsons.” I managed to say, “The cartoon show?” “Yeah.” Catherine smiled. “It’s got all sorts of things in there about people your age. You know, Homer is about your age.” I didn’t like the direction this was taking me. “Homer is about my age.” I said with humiliation. “Yeah and he drinks beer as well, listens to the same music as you do and he has three kids, the oldest is a boy also.” Said Stephanie. “But.” I retorted, “His wife has a pile of blue hair on her head, even I know that. Look at your Mom, not a trace of blue hair, at least not for a few more years!”. My wife trained her flashing dark eyes on me, making me realize what I just said. “D’oh!” I blurted out, quite by accident. Stephanie piped up, “That may be true, Mom doesn’t have Margs’ hair, but Marg is patient, loving and understanding of her Homey as Mom is of you, even if Homer is the stupidest person on the planet”. “So what you guys are saying is that my life is that of Homer Simpson?” John smiled at me and said, “Well, if those are the cards that were dealt to you, you can either play ‘em or fold ‘em.” Giving the option, I knew I had to play them. Looking around the table I saw my cards alright. A full house, two of a kind and three wild eyed jokers. So, that is it. My life, my generation is encapsulated in not something smart and sassy, but more like dumb and brassy. Not even a cool nickname, not Generation X , not an Echo Boomer not even the Me Generation, I stand before you as a Simpson Generationer or maybe in short a Generation S.

And one last thing before I go. Boy, go get me a beer, so I can finish this article.

DB Tests: The Dumbness Quotient

The other day I ran across a list of Grade 9 math questions that was in one of the papers that I read. The writer found the questions challenging, so he threw out 4 or 5 questions for his readers to solve. Now to be fair, I do have a math background and the answers to the questions were pretty easy. I smirked and snorted as the questions were passed down the table to my wife. She laughingly grabbed the paper and started reading the questions. Her laughter gave way to titters and then to a furrowed brow. It was then that it dawned on me that she was struggling with the math and that I had stepped unhesitatingly into a looming pile of trouble. This was not smart of me at all. I tried to back track as best I could, but I knew it was game over as she raised her dark eyes toward me. “What makes you think you are so smart?” She questioned. I should have just packed my bags and said my goodbyes. There was no way out. So I made the smart move and apologized. This demonstrates the difference between intelligence and being smart. Smart is knowing when to do the right thing.

Measuring intelligence has always been a goal of scientists and sociologists as someway to establish a pecking order of organized thought processes. It gives them a concrete base to establish and give credence to whom they think are the humans with the most to offer society when it comes to thinking things out. Unfortunately, many of us tend to agree with them. We seem to equate brilliant thinking with attaining a high I.Q. score. Now, there may be some correlation between the two, whether a higher I.Q. demonstrates the ability to think outside of convention thought patterns and therefore allows the viewer to see things in a different perspective or having the ability to sift through more information and pinpoint the matters that are most significant. But that is not my point. I.Q. tests may be a wonderful way to evaluate the brain, but a terrible way to evaluate “smart”.

I was discussing this with a friend of mine and the name of Howard Gardner came up. In 1983, Gardner introduced his new theory of Multiple Intelligence’s. He stated that our usual Intelligence Quotient tests usually just rely on primarily verbal, logical/mathematical and some spatial skills. He theorized that there were many different levels of intelligence including visual/spacial, bodily/kinetic, musical, interpersonal, intrapersonal and most recently naturalist, spiritual and existential. This certainly makes sense to me as I have always thought there was a big difference between “book” smarts and “real life” smarts. So it seems to me, that in the Ying and Yang sensibilities of this world, there must therefore be an opposite to his theory, a kind of Multiple Dumbness Quotient. So, I now present my theory.

My proposed multiple levels of dumbness are;

The Uh huh Level: This is when the subject only stares at you without emotion and says, “uh huh” after everything you say to them. An example might be, “Ralph! You hair is on fire!” and Ralph replies, “Uh huh.”

The NIMBY Level: If it doesn’t exist in their own back yard, it doesn’t exist. If it can’t be touched and felt... it ain’t. This include any esoteric ideas about anything. Well, except God because they know that God is without a doubt, real.

The Sealed Path Level. Clearly is the most frustrating to most normal people. This is when even in light of the most overwhelming proof of something, the person at this level of dumbness will still fail to change their thinking. Two and two will never be four, even if you hold your fingers up to them and count really slowly.

The Disco/Kinetic Level: I am sure we all know people like this and bear the scars of their frenzied motions. No matter how out of wack with rhythm they are, in their mind they are as graceful as Astaire. This applies to not only dancing, but skating or any other physical activity that requires any sort of co-ordination.

The Death/Risk Level: Otherwise known as the How Dumb Can You Be Rule. You jump off a bridge with a rubber band around your feet. You jump off a cliff with some cloth in your hand a see how far you can fall before throwing your cloth in the air to stop you. These people have all lost the rationale of, “you risk your life, you lose your life”. Of course, something will go wrong, it always does. Death is not very picky. He will certainly select dummies as quickly as anyone else.

And last but certainly not least; The Beyond Comprehension Level of Dumbness: I was watching an A&E show about tornado's. They were interviewing people who had been through the trauma of a tornado and survived to tell the tale afterward. Most of us have heard survivors say that sound of a tornado is similar to the sound of a train rushing by. Well, one gentleman from the deep south, disputed this comparison, I’ll try to quote as best I can, “Didn’t sound like no train to me... there weren’t no woo woo’s. Just the sound of wind.”

Now excuse me for putting my neck on the line, but that is just beyond comprehension dumb.