What I Miss Most About the 1990s Is....

There's an article in tomorrow's (8/7/11) The New York Times Magazine titled, "My So-Called Adulthood" about how Generation X--like every other generation before it--has become nostalgic for all things 1990s (the era of its youth), despite the fact that Gen X was famous for reviling the nostalgia it grew up with: the Baby Boomers fondness for all things 1960s.

Here is the link to the article.

The author Carl Wilson wonders how our generation can proudly embrace retromania when we grew up listening to the Baby Boomers talk about how great the 60s were: how their generation created the best music, ended segregation, were activists, and truly "believed in something, man." Back in the early 90s, didn't we hate the way they always reminisced about the good ol' days, then called us slackers and pointed out that by the time they were our age, they'd already marched on Washington five times and been thrown in jail for protesting something-or-another? They even insisted their drugs were better.

Yay! Beavis and Butthead are
coming back!

And now here we are, 20 years later, in the midst of a 1990s revival. Limp Bizkit, Faith No More, and Third Eye Blind (just to name a few) are touring this summer, plus MTV is bringing back some of its old programming, like "Beavis and Butthead" and "Pop-Up Video." It makes me laugh because we slackers are now the demo with the disposable income. HA! You love us now, don't you?

Mr. Wilson asks the following question in the article: "How does an anti-nostalgic generation deal with the human reflex to sentimentalize its youth?" Of course when I read that sentence, the only thing that popped into my head was, "The reflex...is in charge of finding treasure in the daaaark!"

Right Said Fred: Amusing
yet oh so embarrassing

The answer, according to Mr. Wilson, is mix-tapes. Apparently, some young musicians are creating music called "hypnagogic" or "hauntological" (I swear, I'm not making this up), with melodies that sound like pop songs from previous decades, but recorded to simulate old age by sounding fuzzy or staticky. And many of the artists are recording this music on the practically-extinct cassette tape. (I bet they are really proud of themselves, too).

I have a better idea: How about we Gen Xers join Facebook, post the original videos of all our favorite 80s and 90s songs, share comments about what that song means to each of us, and have fun honestly reminiscing about the good (e.g. Nirvana) and the bad (e.g. Right Said Fred) that our generation had to offer?

Oh, duh.

Tattoo You

I think it's pretty awesome that Gen X turned getting tattooed from a weird and fringe activity into something mainstream. Back in the 90s, millions of post-collegiate 20-somethings got themselves inked. The girls either got something cute (dolphin, butterfly) on their ankle or something abstract on their lower back. (This is often referred to as a "tramp stamp"--a name I hate for something I still think is cool and sexy.)  The guys often chose tribal-looking bands around their biceps or calves.

I myself went with a small sun on my shoulder blade. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision... and no, I wasn't drunk. I went to my friend Jen's apartment one Friday night and we got talking about tattoos. Turns out both of us had wanted one for ages. So the next day, we met up at a tattoo place on Ludlow Street and did the deed. It was a summer Saturday afternoon--I got the sun, she got a butterfly--and afterward we went to The Hat (El Sombrero) for margaritas to celebrate. It was one of those perfect It's-the-summer-and-I'm-young-and-living-in-Manhattan-and-life-is-great days. Ah, bliss.

Fast-forward 15 years...and lots of these got-tattooed-in-their-twenties folks are now parents. Every summer, it cracks me up to see the moms sitting around the edge of the town's baby pool, their wild tattoos on display as they supervise their frolicking babies. I realize not everyone agrees with me here, but I think the moms look cute with their slightly stretched-out roses, fleur-de-lis, and dragonflies. (WARNING: If you plan on ever having kids in the future, please carefully choose the location of your tattoo, e.g. abdomen=bad.)

Occasionally, I come across a person who did more than just dabble in the tattoo arts back in the day. I've seen a couple of dads at the pool with multiple tattoos scattered over their arms, backs, and chests; one guy even has the tattooed sleeve thing going on.

A heavily tattooed mom, however, is a much rarer thing (at least it is in Westchester).

Picture this on her neck.

But today I saw her: Late thirties or early forties, three sons, dirty blonde hair, thin, tired-looking, no makeup...and numerous tats, including an intricate spider web that covers THE ENTIRE FRONT OF HER NECK. She also has three star tats scattered behind each ear, a HUGE filled-in heart covering the nape of her neck, and the requisite lower-back abstract. Who knows what additional ink she's hiding under her clothes.

Whenever I see her--usually at the kids' indoor gym we frequent--I have to stifle a gasp, so shocking is her appearance in our relatively traditional suburban town.

OMG, WHAT IS HER STORY? I wonder every time I see her. Because you know there's a good yarn behind her tats. How'd she end up a stay-at-home mom living in Westchester? Maybe she's a Dominatrix on the side? There's  gotta be something juicy there, and I really want to know.

I wish she seemed more approachable because then I'd try to chat her up. Then after the appropriate interval of time, I'd express admiration for her tattoos and maybe get the inside story. But--surprise!--the chick with the neck tats does not seem approachable at all.

So for now I guess I'll just eyeball her when she's not looking and hope I get to know her one day so I can find out the story behind all her ink. Or better yet, get to know someone who already knows her and her tat tale.

Hmmm...but now that I think about it, one of her sons is named Logan, and when she's ready to leave the play-gym she calls out "LOGEY! Time to go, Logey!" How badass can she be, right?

So very disappointing.

HEINOUS TREND ALERT: Jeggings

Lovely Brit gals wearing TopShop jeggings

How are jeggings relevant to a blog that concerns itself with all things Gen X, you ask? Well, back in the good old 1980's we lived through a similar heinous pant trend: the reviled STIRRUP-PANT. No one--certainly not today's young, naive fashion victims--knows better than us just how awful leggings-gone-bad truly can be.

Take today, for example. I brought Charlotte to her music class and then couldn't believe my eyes when I saw that the teacher was wearing jeggings. This woman is not exactly over-the-hill (she appears to be in her late 40's); however, she does happen to have a very typical mother-of-two figure (i.e. not a size two). Don't get me wrong, I adore this woman. She's one of those rare persons who is so totally kind, welcoming, vivacious, happy, and positive, yet not at all annoying...so I will always give her the benefit of the doubt. However, she was NOT pulling the look off. At all.

Coincidentally, there was another person in music class wearing jeggings and absolutely ROCKING THEM. The fact that she was an adorable 18-month-old (whose mom paired the jeggings with a darling paisley tunic) just made the teacher's attempt at being hip even sadder.

Basically what it comes down to is this: Jeggings should NEVER EVER be worn. But if they must exist, then the wearer should be a tiny, precious, little girl. Fashionable prepubescent girls can also sort of pull off the look. And as far as adults go, if you were born after 1987 and are a size 0 or less, then you have the right to go for it. But if you aren't a stick, don't for a minute think jeggings are flattering.

Or you'll end up looking like this:

REMEMBER: FRIENDS DON'T LET FRIENDS WEAR JEGGINGS.

I'm Still Alive...Just Breathe

One day last week I was in my car listening to our excellent local, independent radio station (shout out to 107.1 The Peak!) when Pearl Jam’s newish song, “Just Breathe” came on. Listening to this pretty song got me thinking about Pearl Jam’s impressive catalogue of songs and their longevity--I (and my fellow Gen Xers) practically grew up on them. 

Despite this, the rock band that has come to define Gen X is Nirvana; along with a handful of other Seattle bands (Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, and Mudhoney to name a few), they ushered in the Grunge era and gave voice to the alienation and insecurity of their generation. Nirvana’s music and lyrics certainly did capture the “what the hell am I doing with my life” feeling most of us had in the early 90s, but I have to argue that, because Kurt Cobain killed himself in 1994 (when he was only 27), thus ending Nirvana’s reign as the voice of Gen X, they shouldn’t be our defining rock band. Because, unlike the rest of us, Nirvana never had to grow up. Sure, Dave G. and Krist N. have aged, moved on, and even started families, but that doesn't count, because we didn't get to see how Nirvana would’ve handled the death of Grunge, Napster, ITunes, or the rise of the horrendous boy band era. Kurt Cobain never had to cope with turning forty. I wonder, if he was still alive, if his daughter Frances Bean would hate him, too.

To me, the band that best defines Gen X is Pearl Jam. Though Eddie Vedder wasn’t as tortured as Kurt Cobain, both bands were Grunge, both came out of Seattle, both wore plaid shirts. Pearl Jam even had a cameo in the classic slacker film, Singles; that’s about as Gen X as you get. The difference is that the members of Pearl Jam have grown older together, have had to change with the times, and are still putting out decent, relevant music. In the 90's, they even challenged the increased corporatization of rock-n-roll by boycotting Ticketmaster and selling tickets to their live shows themselves. 

As I listened to the words of “Just Breathe” it became clear just how “mature” Pearl Jam has become. I’m not a schmaltzy person by nature but I found myself almost getting choked up: Yes, I understand that every life must end, aw-huh. As we sit alone, I know someday we must go, aw-huh. Oh, I'm a lucky man to count on both hands the ones I love. Some folks just have one, others, they've got none, uh-huh.  In his twenties, Eddie Vedder was singing about being alive; now, like the rest of us Gen Xers, he's coming to terms with the fact that his life is probably more than half over. His voice is deeper and more gravelly than it was twenty years ago. He sounds like a man who has been through hard times and has learned from his mistakes...a man who realizes one's worth is best measured by the amount of love--not money--in one's life.