Busted Boom: The Bummer Of Being A Boomer

Busted Boom

The BUMMER Of Being A BOOMER

a somewhat personal interpretation

Brian Paul Bach

Author of:

'The Grand Trunk Road From The Front Seat'

'Calcutta's Edifice: The Buildings of a Great City'

Illustrated by the Author

Goth House

Howrah

2014

Goth House

(conceived in Howrah, Bengal)

<>

a division of

BPB’s ArtPouring, Ltd.

http://bpbartpour.blogspot.com/

©2014 by Brian Paul Bach

[email protected]

ISBN: 9781483511917

Photo Credits

Illustrations and Book Cover by Brian Paul Bach, from his collection, unless otherwise stated. Cover: the Author, c. 1958, photo by E.F. Bach; the Author, some years later, photo by Sandra Bach; Chap.1: sculpture by Jeff Bach; Chap. 4: Troy Donahue and Claudette Colbert in Delmer Daves’ ‘Parrish’ (Warner Bros., 1961), cinematography by Harry Stradling, Sr.; Chap. 6: sculpture by Jeff Bach; Chap. 10: screenshots of Drave Appleyard and Kevlurr Keeffe in the Author’s ‘Death Desert (United Pyramid, 1969); Chap. 17: screenshots of Brunyun ‘The Onion’ McPheatrs in the Author’s ‘The Blast Off!’ (United Pyramid, 1969); Chap. 20: Gene Tierney, John Carradine, Edmund Purdom, Jean Simmons, Bela Darvi, Peter Ustinov, Victor Mature and Michael Wilding in Darryl F. Zanuck’s CinemaScope production, ‘The Egyptian’ (20th-Fox, 1954), directed by Michael Curtiz, cinematography by Leon Shamroy; Chap. 24: screenshot of Kevlurr Keeffe in the Author’s ‘The Blast Off!’ (United Pyramid, 1969); Appendix V: Snowdon, Assange, Manning: webshots; Randy Newman, John Ford: Author’s collection; Finale Ultimo: the Author, c. 1955: Jim Bach collection.

A Note On The Type

Set into motion in Times New Roman

Dedication

To:

Jan Kerouac

(1952-1995)

Friend, writer, zest-seeker, and non-exemplary Boomer of the first water

‘Ceci n’est pas une pipe’ – Rene Magritte (1898-1967); we will talk of absurdities

Table ‘O Contents

Notices

i. On The General Scheme Of This Work

ii. Warnings

iii. Little Duties

1. My Take On It

2. Brooding Camper

3. Sense And Sensitivity

4. Of The Old Memorial Days

5. A Problem Of Credibility

6. A Problem Of Creativity

7. Dominating Devices And Dubious Desires

8. Luck ‘O The Boomer

9. We’ve Gone About As Fer As We Can Go

10. Like / Dislike

11. The Very Center Of The Universe

12. ‘Ayn’ Rhymes With ‘Mine’

13. I, Consummate Consumer

14. Yup!

15. Greed Is Supposed To Be Bad, But It’s Ultimately Good For Everybody

16. Bore-ring!!

17. The Cellophane Prophesy

18. A Mellow Power To The People

19. Boomers Tend To Be...

i. All Sorts Of Things

ii. Coda

20. History Doesn’t Apply To Us! ... Wait A Minute, You Mean It Does??

21. Things Fall Apart

22. Exemplary Boomers: A Casual List

23. Non-Exemplary Boomers: A Casual List

24. Summing Up Without A Bottom Line

Postscript

A Post-Election Epilogue

Appendix I: Showbiz Econ 101

Appendix II: The Horror In A Donut Hole

Appendix III: Critical Mess: In Defense of FORWARD TO GLORY

Argument

Preamble

1. Style

2. What This Particular Novel Is

3. Bittergate

4. Appendix: What This Particular Novel Is About: Book Cover Blurbs

Postscript

Bibliography

Appendix IV: ‘Zero Dark Thirty’ Review: A Mere Episode of ‘Prime Suspect’ or, The Salome Of The CIA

Appendix V: Randy Newman, Ed Snowden, Julian Assange, Bradley Manning . . . and John Ford

Argument

Earwigs And Sweathogs

Randy: Best Of Boomer Potential

Ed: Conscience On Trial

Julian: More American Than The American Way

Bradley: A Moral Figure

Youngers. And Needless Realism, Too

Those Youngers Again

John Ford: Yesterday’s Soup?

The Media No Longer Carries A Message, Because It Is Indeed All Massage Now

General Jabber

Boomers Also Tend To Be...

Political Stickers

Wrap

Finale Ultimo

Perfect weather for freewheelin’ contemplations

Notices

i. On The General Scheme Of This Work

Prepare yourselves – you may think you need to buckle up for this ride, but when we Boomers were growing up, we never had seatbelts. It was just a wing and a prayer. The honor system. Yet, we always seemed to get through all right. Usually, that is.

Not to over-dramatize things, but the following is a trip through a Baby Boomer experience – at times uneasy – but solidly grounded at the same time.

After prefacing and some personal narration in what they call ‘Alone Time’, the general stuff appears.

ii. Warnings

Even though I just said ‘prepare yourselves’, which sounds like a warning, it isn’t, because I’m a man of peace, and seek no conflict.

Here, in the Summer, Fall, and early Winter of the Year 12 in Century 21, when there’s someone called Mitt running for president, I’ll mostly be talking about Baby Boomers of the white, middle class variety, because they are mine own ken. It’s tempting to be more expansive and comparative, but I’m doing this strictly in solo mode. No grants, fellowships or commissions have fueled me. I’m only able to cover the bits of the waterfront that I know. It’s a scattershot approach, and I could continue to make excuses, but Boomer culture, as we know it now, happens to be all over the map in both subtle and overt forms. Considered as an entity, my generation is just as organized/disorganized as any other aspect of society. My treatment of it here reflects my own limitations: narrow resources, apparent disorganization, and conspicuous laziness, as will be obvious in the words to come. The process of tossing out thoughts, ideas, experiences is what I can do, and I can do no more. So, apologies for not taking Boomerian culture and its effects to a more thorough and professional level.

Boomers tend to be disappointed in what you don’t achieve as opposed to being pleased with what you’ve done (lest it intimidate them). They prefer to communicate disappointment rather than admiration. Oh yes, it’s common, as Boomers are very competitive. In the words of choreographer Mark Morris (b. 1956), ‘People resent excellence’ - a remark singularly applicable to his own generation. My own, as well. Because Boomers are so difficult to please, I have to take a risk in writing about what I know, and they will no doubt have some questions concerning what I’ve written about: our own kind. That is, if they even care at all. The bottom line is: they’re probably not going to like this.

Respectable Boomers, go ahead and be outraged. But don’t be afraid to ponder. I don’t really like a lot of this, either. Grinding through it all isn’t so much an exorcism as it is an odyssey. It is to be remembered that most of Odysseus’ route home from Troy was dangerous, delayed, and horrible. But he made it back, with loyal Penelope waiting for him. Even with rewards at the end of the trail, recollections of the journey linger, and sometimes eat at the flesh that houses them.

Indeed, if what follows smacks of turgid and sour grape juice, that is something I will not deny. I have yet to encounter a Boomer though, who did not have some of the same to either proffer or guzzle – and just as often both. Therefore, come to me, all ye who thirst, for I have a private tap to a very satisfactory cask indeed.

Let’s pretend it’s a fine wine. A little esoteric in its acidity perhaps, and austere in its finish, but there are bound to be enough hints of burning rubber, essences of skunk spray, tinctures of mercury, scrapings of plutonium dust, and peelings of lead paint to satisfy any palate.

While you’re sizing up the fuming, greasy ichor in your cracked, fingerprinted glass, a few nuts & bolts notes are worth mentioning in the guttering light from the sickly tapers hereabouts.

It’s not as if I’ve developed a methodical approach to this study or anything. Boomerism is so dispersed, so flaky, so automatic in its reflexes. It certainly has distinctive personality strengths, but I’m set on sniffing out the weaknesses. My dog Hugo has been a mentor in this attempt. While I draw the line at being an interpreter of excrement, there’s a lot to be said for cataloguing a vast array of scents as best you can, even if you’re not endowed with a canine capacity for database-shaming recollection. Speaking of wine, Hugo, of French heritage, has a passion for chewing freshly-popped corks, but I doubt even he would fancy those associated with the fœtid squeezings I’m going to serve at my tawdry bar.

[There’s a great wine vault in London called Gordon’s, a splendid warren of dim alcoves, nitre-encrusted arches, dusty bottles of Amontillado, and dripping candles - my inspiration!]

So, why the ‘Bummer’ subtitle? Does it suggest a feeling that I really got ‘burned’ in this Boomer deal? As Meat Loaf sang, ‘Life is a lemon, and I want my money back’. Is that it? Not really... No, I don’t think so. Is it a case of we got burned? No again. Looking retrospectively, from my coign of vantage, it’s not hard to make the call: Boomers made their choices long ago. I shall reflect on some of them. The choices were certainly significant, and very wide-ranging. They were pretty much made back in an old dark age, the Reagan Era, a state of mind that so hijacked the Boomers’ true destiny. Therein was a future that could have involved working free of the restraints that cause wars, and the curses that keep humanity in chains - just for starters. Not every generation has had such an idealistic assignment, or opportunity. We could have leapt ahead, but we missed our chance. We blew it.

Bummer.

That’s all the profound declarations I can make. Except: this isn’t any I HATE BOOMERS foray. Neither is it a tale of woe and remorse. It’s just a limited set of observations, inferences, implications, and stark facts. I’m not one of those happenin’ dudes who is going to have a generous publicity slot on ‘Fresh Air’, or any goddammed magazine show. No ‘Slate’ time or Amazonian gabbing about books. No academic backing was involved, no peer-reviewed journal interest, no journalistic commissions or even vanity blog invitations. I don’t have Pew Research Center fellows to bolster me, or many primary sources to cite, or forces to utilize, in order to take the processes of proof to levels of authenticity any higher than my own hearsay. In short, I am without resources past my own. Other than a number of Wikipædia and Internet Movie Database references, several quotes, and regular checks for accuracy in bracketed notes and such, you won’t find any online rip-offs, either.

I also have to categorically state that I’ve read virtually nothing professionally written on my subject, nor seen any documentary, or TV series. I have caught a few snippets on radio talkie-shows that have skirted a few social trends, but not specifically relating to Boomers. Material certainly exists, but I am not familiar with any of it. I have gathered a collection of ‘found objects’, though. Therefore, I am just another bozo on the bus, as the Firesign Theatre would say, and I think that might be advantageous in this instance.

As a Boomer who informally but sincerely kept track of a few indicators of our passages through life along the way, I couldn’t help but really sit up once the Reagan Era had started. Things changed. Suddenly there was this conformity, this judgmental examination of others in our generation, not necessarily from the parentals, but from fellow members, fellow Boomers. There was talk of ‘making it’ or ‘not making it’. Were we supposed to suddenly mature en masse, or something? Not likely, especially with a twenty-year timespan to consider. Well, I can’t summarize this sea-change with any authority, but I can comment on some of the detectable elements of it. And I will, in due course. That’s why I refer to this period as the Reagan Era Conformity (sometimes with caps, sometimes without). It’s not just based on hunches, or resentments, or – Oh yes, I realize I will probably be interrupted, as ‘they’, or some to be referred to as ‘them’, will cry, ‘What’s with you and this Reagan era stuff? What gives you the right? What evidence do you have? Come forward with it, here and now! And stop picking on the Great Communicator!’ To which I’ll have to reply, ‘This is my yak-fest. Go have your own. John Locke rebutted Bob Filmer. [‘Two Treatises of Government’, 1689.] You do your own version!’

Boomer snottiness in action? Yes, on ‘their’ part.

OK, maybe I need to supply a few more bits of CV, so that no one will be chasing after me like the Buffalo Bills did with Bob Preston in ‘The Music Man’ (1962), yelling ‘We need your credentials!’

- 18 years steady exposure and experience with siblings, of good Boomer standing. 1954-73 and beyond, in selected cases.

- 13 years experience and exposure to classmates and friends, of sufficient Boomer standing. 1960-1973 and beyond, in selected cases.

- 40+ years experience and exposure to persons of confirmed and presumed Boomer standing in the world at large. Specifically, on three continents: North America, Europe, Asia. Exposure diminished in Europe and Asia, as Boomer Era persons in those locales are markedly different than US Boomers. Oh yes, very different. 1973 – to date

- 25+ years exposure and experience of marriage to my wife Sandra, of impeccable Boomer standing, whom I first met in high school, c. 1971. 1987 – to date

That’s it, I’m afraid. Many a Boomer could certainly offer similar qualifications. But that’s just my point: life experience and exposure account for most of our findings in this world, though now they’ve been hijacked by what the media wants your world to be. But more about that later.

Even though Truman Capote’s final effort, ‘Answered Prayers’ was never issued in toto, though fragments appeared, its thinly-disguised intents finished him off socially. [‘Vanity Fair’, December 2012.] In its chock-a-block components, he was revealing true-ish natures of his own social circle. It wasn’t pretty, and those in the circle hated it and froze him out. But general readers were charmed and seemed glad to have an ‘American Proust’ down there in the trenches somewhere. Thus, Boomers themselves may not overtly critique Boomers as a group, but someone should, however ineptly. No Capotean cattish grandeur or mandarin coding shall appear here though, and quite frankly, nothing I have to say below is very controversial. If anything, it’s very mundane – because it’s all so obvious. I do indulge in a bit of daring economic theorizing, though, in Appendix I, way in the back somewhere. Two more appendices (II & III) involve issues of a personal nature, with the relevance of each described in the Arguments that precede them. Appendix IV is a review of a consummately Boomerian film, ‘Zero Dark Thirty’. An absurd choice? Not at all. There’s also an Appendix V, in which the wacky Summer of 2013 – long, hot thing that it was – compelled Boomers to consider newcomers like Ed Snowden, Big Brothers like the National Security Agency, and a wild array of fires and funkiness, even unto the forbidding gates of fabled Syria.

‘A critique,’ said historian-philosopher Will Durant, ‘is not precisely a criticism, but a critical analysis.’ I’ll try to keep that in mind. There is the possibility of kindness, if not sympathy, therein. Past my own perspectives, I’m consulting a few readily-acquired materials in order to sex up this show a bit. Accessed through a dollar-an-issue subscription, your average issue of ‘Vanity Fair’ (which is basically intended for Boomers who want, in Condé Nast parlance, ‘substance’ along with ‘style’) has a ton of Boomer-oriented items to reflect on, so I will, as needed.

In face-to-face conversations with people, my big shortcoming is that I’m lousy at eye contact. I’m a writer/director in such situations, not so much an actor. This can create a problem with credibility. Even though Boomers are sometimes known to wear shades when they yak, aside from verbiage and body language, they need a soulful window to gaze through to reassure them of their own validity. Thus, I listen and make note. Those are the only skills I have to offer in justifying the following work’s veracity. I may be a bozo on public transport, but I happen to be perched in one of the more obscure nooks of the coach, maybe even on the rear bumper. There will be rambles along lanes that might seem a tad too winding, but you won’t find any picking at day-old hors d’œuvres along the way, or doubledipping in and about some Costco vegetable platter, so to speak. Genetically-modified thoughts are unknown hereabouts. No ‘spin’ will be attempted.

So much of what I consider here involves surrounding generations. I try to qualify when Boomer-specific subjects sound absolutist or exclusive, but most attempts will fail. I’m attracted to holistic thinking, and following threads towards further lights is tempting, but a limited fella has to draw back and admit his limitations. Yes, those who parented us are inextricably linked to the following saga, but Tom Brokaw’s already covered them, and they will always be an impossible act to follow. However, their era is rapidly passing, and they have had their day. Boy, did they have it. Notwithstanding this, those who come after us are a different matter. Boomers have been a bigger influence on their Youngers than the Youngers would care to admit, and part of their apparent lack of general curiosity has been a normal reaction to Boomers hogging the show for so long. Yes, we have been piggish, but because there are fewer of them than there are of us, they are far lest burdened by expectations. They’ll be all right in time, and indeed, may emerge the better for it. Thus, surrounding generations are unavoidably mentioned, but there’s no reason to assume that any focus on them is anything more than peripheral.

The touchy Boomer – and yes, we are legion – noting my experiences, might well say, ‘Man, you sure know some weird people... Are they all you know?’ This is true: yes I do, but no, they’re not all. I think I’ve had a pretty fair exposure over a wider variety of Boomerian creatures through the centuries, than might be quickly assumed. Lots of Boomers are ‘weird’. Lots more are also very ‘average’. When working at a large theatre that was the venue for big shows and personalities at the time (The Grateful Dead to Country Joe to Angela Davis to The Spinners), I witnessed Boomer behavior en masse – as well as individually.

[Lots of rock ‘n roll, but few drugs and not very much sex. Just some of the shows I worked: Tammy Wynette was gracious and sweet to me, Martin Mull was hilarious, Oscar Peterson had the largest hand I’ve ever shaken, Joan Baez kissed me on the cheek for my yeoman backstage door labors (she had a Disco album out!), and Dolly Parton assured me by her very close proximity that ‘they were real’. Also: Billy Joel rising, David Bowie in wilderness mode, backing up Iggy Pop, Chick Corea glowing, Muddy Waters shining, George Clinton and Parliament in the ultimate funkadelphic epic, George Carlin ingenious, Steve Martin captivating, Keith Jarrett very serious, Benny Goodman historical, Doc Watson heartwarming - and I wouldn’t let Buddy Rich in the front door at first because I didn’t know who he was. ‘You’re a helluva watchdog!’ he crowed, after my boss apologized on my behalf. Stan Kenton, Dave Brubeck (recently expired!), Natalie Cole, Lou Rawls, Buffy Saint Marie, Joan Armatrading, Rush, Kansas, Bay City Rollers (we had to haul out many a fainted pubescent girl!), Styx, George Benson, Vassar Clements, Phœbe Snow, Dr. Hook, Dr. John, John Mayall, Leon Redbone, Harry Chapin, Ramsey Lewis, Tom Waits (his song about burned furniture and dusty venetian blinds was monumental), Bonnie Raitt, Genesis, Arlo Guthrie, Emmy Lou Harris, Bad Company, Marshall Tucker Band, The Crusaders, Joe Cocker, Tangerine Dream, Judy Collins, Larry Coryell, Leo Kottke, Montrose, Lou Reed (he expired just last week!), David Bromberg, Charlie Daniels Band, Jackson Browne, CTI Jazz, Harry Belafonte, Barry Manilow, Boz Skaggs, Ohio Players, Kris Kristofferson, Rita Coolidge, Roberta Flack, Smokey Robinson, The Tubes, The Ramones, Blondie, Heart, Tower of Power, Tom T. Hall, The United States Navy Band and the Incredible Jimmy Smith. As well as other Who’s Who artists of the era. Angela Davis didn’t sing, but she rocked.]

And that was just one sequence of events. There were others... Every Boomer alive today could say something similar.

However, it doesn’t take too many think tanks to figure out that a few generalizations, several observations, and a smattering of impressions on the subject at hand may be true, or at least possible. I can certainly vouch for my own experiences, so that’s my emphasis here. They may not be massive or definitive, but neither are they jaded or xenophobic. I strive for fair-mindedness, but bits of cheery wryness are inescapable.

My wife Sandra carefully asked, ‘You’re going to say some... good things, aren’t you?’

In my approach to the Boomer phenomenon, my point is not to demonstrate what might have been. There’s not too much about what was, either. Rather, it’s all about what is. That’s why I say ‘now’, ‘today’ and ‘these days’ so often. Perhaps surprisingly, there will be no ‘tiresome tropes’ of reminiscences about the 60s, or TV shows we loved, favorite candy bars, Melmac memories, or anything similar, all of which can really wear out younger critics.

[Sound advice from Paul Constant (post-Boomer), ‘The Stranger’ of Seattle’s perceptive book critic, who warned of such tropes.]

I offer no ‘system’ so as to bail out the collective Boomer ass, or to cynically make a mint from some idiotic franchise of exploitation. Even Boomers who dropped out of school in Junior High know enough of existing ethics and beliefs to actually follow some of them – even at this advanced stage. No, I’m just pointing out the existence of a few guidelines, with no mission attached, except maybe for us to pause and reflect on what we already know. Getting pissed off over what we’ve become – or what we’re afraid to be, is reasonable progress in self-improvement. And what’s wrong with that? Mahatma Gandhi was influenced by John Ruskin’s thoughts in that arena, and Martin Luther King was influenced by Gandhi, while in their turn Nelson Mandela and Bishop Desmond Tutu were influenced by MLK – and on and on – fortunately. If the sins can be the father’s, so can the virtues. As the Russians say: Love thy neighbor, but build a fence. To which I would add, do it without erecting curtains of iron or Palestinian caissons.

As with all humanoids, Boomers like to talk about stuff, and they just love to talk about themselves. But do they really talk about themselves as Boomers? I don’t think they really do, as such. There are so many of us that the community is not a closely-knit one. Boomers tend to foster self-awareness on an individual rather than a collective level. It’s certainly better that way. Many of us may be conformists, but we aren’t sheep. In any event, my oncoming scrutiny might stimulate some discussion within that context.

So, following further notices below, some of the consequences of that phenomenon.

iii. Little Duties

Because I’m such a ‘barefoot’ would-be scholar in the subject to be considered, I now submit some minor notes about the styles and usages which follow, in order to protect myself from the hail of justified accusations over essay law-breaking, which could occur from all quarters. Remember, Boomers can be a very rule-following lot, so I just want to declare myself an oddball first, just to get it over with.

[My friend, the eminent, bonafide scholar P. Thankappan Nair (b. 1933), whose lifelong study of the city of Calcutta has been an inspiration and aid to my own work there, was branded ‘barefoot’ by critics who considered him an outsider. I endeavor to follow in his footsteps.]

I use italics quite a bit in this piece, and rationalize it by assuring the reader: it’s for conversational emphasis, instead of for foreign words and phrases. Sort of like a ‘rap session’, or as if the following were a (one-sided) conversation, which is very typical of Boomers, now that they have reached the age of sagacity.

There are lots of quotation marks around terms I choose to employ, too. I like using single ones, so that the effect doesn’t get too pushy. We Boomers like to make sure people know when we’re applying just the right stress in our communication in just the right ways. I think it might be part of our cinematic orientation. I’m not sure if it was a Boomer who came up with that somewhat pesky hand gesture that denotes when one is speaking parenthetically, or within quotes, but it’s just another bit of self-assurance of getting one’s message across, and that one’s communicating might actually verge on ‘great’. If any of us ever looked to Ronald Reagan as a ‘model’ to emulate (though I myself have never aspired to such a high standard), total success in understanding was assured. These are all tools of self-protection, I know, and I exercise my full Boomer rights in accessing at least some of them.

Such an approach is all I can hope for in the present situation. In my experience, when talking to Boomers about themselves as Boomers, it can be a surprisingly touchy process of picking words carefully. Except, it seems, when things go their rosily nostalgic way: good times, freaky ‘n funny stories, sweet memories. When considered as an entity of which they are members, most everything else about their generation seems like an improbability to them, if not an impossibility. Or an insult. Distancing themselves from embarrassing situations is a fundamental part of the Boomer Survival Kit. But remember, I am one of them. And my qualifications are, as I have demonstrated, impeccable enough. Plus, I was born almost exactly in the center of said Boom. So, we’ll see how far I can get without walking on eggshells.

Birth years of significant Boomers and relevant guests are given generously along the way, so as to show their relevance in the scheme of things. I’m sorry if they appear distracting, but such telling data is one of the few resources I can employ in order to scientifically substantiate my points. Privileged young people in the Italian Renaissance may have indeed enacted behavior akin to American Boomers, but because I wasn’t there, I plead ‘self-absorbed American dumbshit’ status. After all, in every English class we took growing up, teachers were obsessed with the Hemingwayesque cliché, ‘Write about what you know.’ To which I would add, ‘Or think you know.’

Film has an important place in these pages. Its influence on Boomers is legendary and beloved. It is also a language most Boomers fully understand, overtly or subjectively. When mentioning film and TV (and book) titles in the text, I include the date of production as a point of reference in relation to the Boomer years. As an avid reader of the showbiz periodical ‘Variety’ in the 70s, I was tempted to include the studio along with the year, as such assignations used to indicate certain styles and preferences. But I have to keep in mind that most Boomers probably think such details are superfluous and fussy. Boomers may themselves be practitioners of such fussiness, but they don’t want to admit it, and indeed, like to call out others on it. Also, they would be even more distracting than the birthdates already are.

Cuss words in our society have always been utilized for purposes of emphasis, though misuse leads to possible blacklisting. Referring to the f-word’s overuse in general society, a Boomer I know said he wasn’t going to use it anymore because he ‘didn’t want to sound like a gang member’. Defending my own very occasional use of such words, I replied by saying, ‘Well, speaking for myself, I’m not a gang member.’ You’ve got to know who you are if you’re going to wield such weapons. There’s a great scene in Brian De Palma’s ‘Scarface’ (1983), when Michelle Pfeiffer’s character wearily asks, ‘Can’t you stop saying ‘fuck’ all the time?’ In his bubble bath, Al Pacino’s Scarface totally ignores this question. Classic Boomer behavior - on all sides!

The c-word also pops its gruesome head up quite a bit around here. Can’t be helped. That’s because the corporate mentality as it is today figures so keenly in the Boomer Temperament. The evidence is all over the place, and I’m not going to scuttle from citation to article to study to polls to scholarly journals - and back - just to prove it. Old gents wearing pocket watches, seen in 1930s ‘Fortune’ portraits by Margaret Bourke-White, may have created the corporate apparatus we know and love, but it’s many of the dudes you see captured by Annie Leibovitz (b. 1949) for ‘Vanity Fair’ that are running the show now, as we speak. And boy, are they running things, as fast as they can, and as far as they can go. If ‘corporate’ is a dirty word, it’s because of the guys (and they are pretty much all guys) born in the 40s and 50s of the Boomer years, who’ve been CEO-ing and COO-ing, tweaking and wresting, cheating and squeezing, gambling and lunging after things - via the corporate advantage - until they get what they want. But as we’ve seen, ad nauseam, it’s never enough. Some young’uns from the 60s are starting to take ‘the conn’, and we’ll see if they’re even more horrible, or if an Enlightenment might not emerge from an obscure alcove of some board room before the Mayan calendar ends, which I guess is just a few weeks from now. That’s not a lot of time for hope to spring. Yes, a lot of fingers need to be pointed at corporations for fucking things up on a globally-disruptive scale, and they’re not done doing their thing by a long shot. Boomers are involved, and I’m not going to roll over just because a lot of corporations happen to be upstanding in the mix, or that plenty of dirty corporations have excellent taste in art, architecture and design.

Hopefully, the social limitations, italics, and f- & c-words will be tolerably employed in the following work, on account of their intended effects, which are hallmarks of mine own generation.

Finally, I’ve never much cared for the present term to describe the demographic surge in the US from 1945 to 1965: ‘Baby Boom’, let alone ‘Baby Boomer’. For one thing, too many ‘B’s bump along. It’s obviously colloquial, and Boomers feel comfortable with popular terms that are slightly amusing, as a handle on something implicitly academic. The mildly mocking intent of the ‘For Dummies’™ series of self-help books seems to give users a bit of comfort, though such buzzphrases as ‘It’s the economy (or anything), stupid!’ are just so much projectile snot.

In countries like India, China and Brazil, there’s never not been a baby boom. But in America, with its singular showbiz orientation, the phenomenal postwar prosperity brought a self-amazement that I suppose had to be popularly labeled somehow. To me it sounds pretentious, as if nothing could possibly top it, sort of like applying ‘New’ to something, but ‘new’ invariably turns old. However, because I have not invented any term that might be superimposed upon it, either as a parody or something truly better, I shall stick to ‘Baby Boom’ in all its variations, while tossing in a few inventions of obviousness, such as ‘Boomerian’, although temptations like ‘Boomerama’ and ‘Boomerable’ will be avoided. The root term as default has been declared bonafide by academic studies I think, and for the longest time now. Expressions like ‘Baby Boom’ beg to be played around with, and in terms commensurate with their own colloquiality. The derivation of other borderline-silly terms I choose to use, such as ‘Greatists’ and ‘Youngers’ will be groaningly apparent. But why be priggish about terminology? The whole Boomer phenomenon has elements of the cartoonish in it, and not very much Eugene O’Neill, as it were. We need to loosen up.

PS: I’m remaining rigid on one thing though: the 1945 to 1965 timeframe as the bookends of this epic. That is, the years those known as Boomers were born. And it is the Boomers who are to be considered, not those years. Some might want to expand or contract or subdivide them, or get all deconstructive and finicky about their breakdown, but that’s not the point here. The twenty-year span is just too convenient, and I’m enough of a student of history and oriented in the linear style to prefer numbers defining epochs, as opposed to fuzzy impulses, hazily projected. This is especially helpful in my case, as a sort of container for the mishmash of impressions and thoughts I be about to lay before ye. I’ve worked in a library, and systematic organization helps you locate stuff when you need it. Thus, those twenty years are only the starting points to where we are now.

PPS: I scuttled concocting a Glossary – satirical or actual - for this thing. Among other funky wordplays that follow, I had to coin a term that is very self-serving for me. It’s Selfism, which is cheap enough in its obviousness. But in regard to Boomers, Selfism can be virtually everything with ‘self’ attached as a hyphenated prefix. You know, ‘self-absorbed’, ‘self-serving’, ‘self-ish’ – even ‘self-loathing’ – that sort of thing.

PPPS: Items of a footnote nature are presented within [brackets]. Some of the material is, as historian Will Durant would say, recondite. Other bits are mere citations.

NB: Willard Mitt Romney was born in 1947. Should he win, he would be the fourth Boomer president. (SPOILER: See the ‘Post-Election Epilogue’ below, for the thrilling conclusion to this year’s presidential race!) No Chief Executive so far has been born in ‘my’ decade, the centrally placed 50s. I can only hope it continues to be passed over. We need to move on.

Acknowledgments of appreciation: My wife Sandra, whose love and support are the most foundational things in my life. Joshua Nelson PhD, longtime Boomer associate who knows what the hell he’s talking about. J. Douglas Mitchell, always in the vanguard, always insightful. Kathryn A. Zimmerman, for having the fortitude to face my onslaughts with calm suggestions and perspectives. John ‘Ward’ Brotherton, over whom I can lord two weeks of Boomer seniority. Plus, Boomers who have, through the ages, been themselves in my presence. I am grateful for their integrity. None of them are revealingly named, so their secrets are safe with me. Besides, I don’t know where any bodies are buried, so basically I’m harmless. This is my deal, and mine alone.

If any parties are liable to be injured by the present tract, and cry out for reasons why I might have been moved to spend so much time within the confines of the corporate suites of Office™ in order to speak my mind, they need look no further than the late, great writer and critic Robert Hughes (1938-2012). His ‘Culture of Complaint: The Fraying of America’ (1993) is, to my mind, the most seminal, concise, and brilliant launching pad for any contemporary analysis of American society and culture. Put away my book right now and read Hughes first, without delay. It just occurred to me this very day, that if my book has a guru, so to speak, it is Robert Hughes.

Boomers are, as Dylan sang, forever young. Whether they like it or not. That being the case, they keep up with the contemporary scene.

The 50th anniversary of the JFK assassination is upon us. Boomers who were aware that day in ’63 (I was nine) - when we were all breathing the same air, when we were all Berliners, when we were all cherishing our futures - will, fifty years on, be able to gauge their own subsequent lives in terms of ‘what might have been’. Indeed, we Boomers have known ‘what might have been’ as a lifelong theme to contemplate, whether it actually applied to us or not. The elimination of a president instilled a sensitivity to security, or at least a wondering if things that we thought constant and reliable were all that constant and reliable after all. Such a subjective notion is a loose yet binding tie, sewn into our generation, it seems. There is of course nothing novel in this very human realm of thought, but because it was visited upon us in such a way, and because we could be participatory in a national loss, as most of us were, many things in life after that became Big Deals, so to speak. It can be argued that, because we were invited into the intimacy of the Kennedy funeral on TV, it somehow made us more significant, and thus, special. We became privileged just by being ourselves. A very big deal indeed. The effects of such an abstraction are lasting.

Resolved: Boomers are pretty big on Big Deals. Therefore, they might be rather refreshed by the process of taking a revised (though not deconstructed) look at themselves in the mirror, which they possibly haven’t done in a long time, if ever. Hopefully, it might come as a relief. Maybe even a catharsis. Anything at all to lighten the burden of being a Boomer in this, our only chance at a future - this Century 21 - which spreads before us.

As the padre in ‘The Song of Bernadette’ (1943) said: ‘No further explanation is necessary, because no further explanation is possible’. Fair enough, but as a Boomer, I get to be contrarian. No further explanation is possible because no further explanation is necessary.

- bpb 22 November, 2013

End of Notices

I am a stranger here – and I was alone

1. My Take On It

Despite many serious intonations made in the present work, and its doom-laden title, I have to say right off that this Baby Boomer critique is a bit of a romp. Due to the fact that we Boomers like to have a good time, I’ll be entirely consistent in our traditions and practices. It’s no party scene that I propose, no celebration, but it’s necessary to expunge the following thoughts from my system, as the pitch of criticism therein has progressed into sort of an acute bacchanal. Indeed, there might be a good time to be had in spreading it all out like a Vegas buffet, provided that it doesn’t get preachy or too piggy, or too much of a bummer - or anything worse. Know what I mean?

I like the term ‘jeremiad’ rather than ‘rant’ or ‘tirade’, and ‘screed’ sounds too much like ‘snood’. But I don’t think this essay is any of those things. Nor is it any kind of history, though it is a casual rundown of things encountered. It’s a collection of impressions and notions that I and I alone have pondered and eventually formulated. Any scholarly tone that follows may be somewhat tepid, but it is not bogus.

After all, we Boomers (I was born in ’54) are basically in it for ourselves, aren’t we? ‘It’ being an agenda of self-interest. So, to be consistent again, as I will repeatedly, the following essay is a classic example of ‘I. Me. Mine’, to use the George Harrison phrase, which is really very apropos to my generation.

It’s no autobiography either, that’s for sure. Just some findings that have surrounded me over the years. They are mostly unsolicited. I haven’t sought them out. They were just there, dumped in my lap, it seems. And because I am indeed a Boomer, and being on the receiving end of so much material, I’ve always felt I’ve never really fit in in major ways. As a self-perceived outsider then, I believe I’m more than a tiny bit qualified to make some claims. They’re nothing particularly shattering or novel, but they are, I think, pretty undeniable.

I wish the best for my generation, and always have. It’s just that the members of it are in a perceived decline, which seems, interestingly enough, to be in line with the nation in which they were born and also inhabit. That being a possibility, something should be said as to why. Contributors can sometimes be causers, witting or unwitting. If Boomers as a group are not responsible for the regression of the US (which isn’t my task to prove here), then I just hope we can get through this rough time - for a rough time it is, in relation to what came before. I’m not referring to a misty-eyed golden age of Boomer glory like some are wont to do, either. If we can just hang in there until we’re all . . . gone, then perhaps others will emerge in a better place: a bit of sunlight at another end of a tunnel nobody knew of before. Hopefully, conditions there will not be overly globally-warmed. It’s just a nice thought...

Also, a word about privilege and entitlement, those two impeccable institutions so referenced in Boomer matters by we observers, both professional and amateur - the latter of which I am an associate. There are numerous Boomers who did not ever really enjoy or partake of any such endowments, Boomers though they were and are. Life may have heaved all kinds of unwanted loads on them, causing everything from mild disadvantage to fullblown tragedy. Life itself.

In other words, when all is said and done, Boomers are as equal as anyone as far as the human basics are concerned, and I’m not just referring to the inevitables we all face in our own time.

Minorities, the disenfranchised, and the bottom strata of the general population experienced very little of the Boomer culture’s benefits in direct, ascendant ways, though they were of course required to fit into its conventions, albeit from afar. They could hope, they could aspire, perhaps emulate, but it was rarely a noblesse oblige grant, like it was for most of us, even though we were members of what would be considered a modest financial standing.

The thing is, if you happened to have been a Boomer who was disadvantaged in some way, you did your best to downplay it, if not hide the facts altogether. This was very doable, especially if the disadvantages were more conventional than exceptional. With a little confidence, you could pass as mainstream. Mainstream, of course, was the sweet zone. In these after years, I encountered a schoolmate who was known at the time for being a hip band member and cool ‘head’ (e.g. pot culturist), and who enjoyed all the varied prestige therein. He told me that all through high school, he had been his ailing mother’s caretaker, even unto bedpans, but that he’d maintained an appearance of carefree, full-fledged Boomerdom, as that was what you did, to avoid marginalization, if nothing else.

So, even though there might have been massive deficiencies in one’s life, it was still possible in many instances to pose as a fully functional Boomer, eligible for all the rights and privileges therein. Time has shown that many Boomer families were indeed dysfunctional, with a whole spectrum of human experience problems and disasters, but the important thing was maintaining the image of how we as a group should be. It was a product successfully and aggressively promoted and sold to us. And the people bought. Never was fitting-in made more attractive. Even if your family was disadvantaged, there were many tools available to pull off appearances. But Boomer prosperity was no sham. Certain behaviors were indeed practiced fakery, and false fronts there were aplenty, but for most, the opportunities were real, the freedoms of the lifestyle were promising, and the pleasures, once tasted, were worth making a high priority, in order to enjoy.

If anything, speaking in the present time, all the publicity and (waning?) interest in a social phenomenon such as the Boomer generation, including my own thoughts here, are typical of that very generation’s self-absorption, processed through the American media machine – its most readily available facility. That is not to discount its value, however. Humans will always be obsessed with themselves, and this is just my version of joining that ‘great’ tradition.

I hope I will not be taken as an egotist if I say that I am a proven deliverer of lead balloons. I always liked that expression, as it is so extreme as to be dangerous. I mean, someone could get crowned pretty thoroughly by a tool like that. I always envisioned such an expression as a Montgolfier construction of dullish-grey cast iron, with elements of Victorian ornateness, coupled with a Jules Verne-ian potential for flight, as if some obscure genius had discovered the means by which lead balloons might, in spite of everything, wow the skeptics by soaring aloft. As far as my own lead balloon production, such machines are also upholstered with wet blankets. Perhaps it’s better to say that I puncture bowling balls, a particularly unpopular offense. I tend to end discussions, wreck fun gossip, wrap up blog exchanges, silence potential statements about to be spoken – apparently. I guess I should take it as a compliment or something, but I want to be in the midst of the words, not among the last. I’ve learned though, that in such exchanges, Boomers are pretty easy to shut down.

I suspect that most everything worthwhile to say about the Boomer generation has already been said many times, succinctly and with depth. Nevertheless, I have prepared these few short remarks on the subject, many of them, as I’ve said, based on my own experiences, which perhaps lend a lower-level perspective to any consideration of the phenomenon in question. This is especially the case now that torches are being passed - or the subject of their passing comes up more often than it used to - which freaks everyone out. Because we’re supposed to receive torches, not pass them, aren’t we?

There’s still a lot to say, a lot to react to, but the present work is necessarily limited to only a few aspects of the Boomer experience, which is perhaps a merciful gesture on my part.

Because, you know those darn Boomers? They are a loose but valid lot, a mass of contradictions, but strangely united amongst themselves, though hardly tribal. Not only because of a commonality of experience, but by a sort of funky birthright membership. Not all of them were a party to its advantages, you understand, but a huge number of formerly disparate groups across a vast nation were brought together informally by currents and forces that were creating a ‘new normal’. This was generally considered as being a huge step up the evolutionary ladder, at least as far as living standards were concerned, with healthy doses of happiness pursuits thrown in.

That’s a pretty big deal when you think about it, and most things about the Boomers and their generation were made to be a big deal – even if they and it really weren’t, in the way its members thought it was.

Kirk to Enterprise: Perfect weather for carefree camping down here

2. Brooding Camper

It was the Alone Time.

Anybody who knows me these days is familiar with my amateur efforts in social criticism. I tend to comment liberally on certain trends that I can’t help but notice, as I seem to be burdened with a tendency to notice things. As time goes on though, I’m not so sure such efforts are very amateur after all...

Any observation I might make is always a work in progress. I cannot possibly be conclusive about anything except to make an offering of what I perceive to be happening within a certain large social group – of which I am a member – and to consider the effects of said group’s behavior in the world at large.

This sort of prefacing isn’t for purposes of acquittal, but rather to actually attempt the practice of a principle I pretend to preach: a bit of humility – with humbleness tossed in. No ‘I want you to like me’ humor intended.

Indeed, I cannot claim anything more than pipsqueak status in this whole business of social observation, but pipsqueaks can be perfectly valid in their egalitarianism, and even worthwhile in their contributions. If nothing else, their noises can be noticed because of a certain irritation factor, and if they get smothered in any kind of lubricating oil, that’s one way of shutting them up. However, oil eventually dissipates and squeaks invariably persist. Social observations always contain annoyances because, when humans critique themselves, opinions fly fast, but not as fast as the objections that will certainly result.

However, the following commentaries are scarcely opinions on my part, because I’m not interested in opinions, let alone offering some of my own. No, these are what I would consider examples of reality, because, no matter how many I have witnessed, I have to disassociate myself from them. Points of view are an inevitability of the individual, but shouldn’t necessarily be taken as opinions, per se. This is because I’m questioning a process: the identification of a given person with the subject at hand. It’s also a case of endeavoring to improve myself; I’m trying not to participate in behavior I don’t admire. I’m referring to what might be termed Boomerish behavior and my participation in it. But, can Boomer behavior be distinguished from human behavior? As Henry Spencer said in David Lynch’s ‘Eraserhead’ (1977), ‘Why are you asking me this question?’

I said that I’m trying not to participate. Opinions are about the commonest thing in Boomerdom. It is true that some will surely sneak in here.

Right now I’m jotting down these semi-cooked thoughts in a splendid isolation, a very pleasant US Forest Service camp in the Methow River region of Washington State. It is a profoundly beautiful and intact example of the benefits of preservation and conservation. It’s the middle of deepest summer, and pretty humid, and there are lots of bugs, but that’s the ‘natural’ side of things. Global disruption is now gaining momentum on this planet, but in a way, you’d never know it this day. I am surrounded by nature, but I am also using certain appliances to insulate myself from it. You may be familiar with some of the brand names.

Such as: a) One VW EuroVan camper, completely outfitted and weatherproof – it proved exceptionally cozy in the spectacular thunder and lightning storm last night; b) One high-quality REI ‘Bug House’ (marketed name: ‘Screen House’), a well-designed and extremely efficient screened tent – with rain fly – that protects me from all the winged vermin who wait beyond its borders; but creepy-crawlies can still invade, including never before seen speckled six-legged something-or-others and a handsome spider of obvious Scandinavian design (charcoal appendages, turquoise body), that just kept heading towards me until it had to be directed away; c) One four year-old MacBook laptop, by which I write the present words, which is not in itself an insulation against nature, but when you think about it, digital technology in the midst of the exalting outdoors still has a very ‘interior’ and air-conditioned aspect to it; d) Two pair of Crocs shoes, which accommodate my podiatristprescribed orthotics quite nicely, making it possible for my creaky feet to tolerate the relentlessness of nature’s terrain, either virginal or adjusted by humans; one pair has breather holes (purchased at the genuine Crocs store in The Dubai Mall), the other (purchased online from the Crocs website) doesn’t; e) One Specialist mountain bike, almost ten years old, but still in top condition, with shock absorbers in front and knobby tires to master even the most forbidding territory to be conquered – after all, it’s a ‘Rockhopper’ model; f) One now-dated Canon digital camera – I like my Nikons better, but this one is much more portable and it does video – I captured some moments of a killer chipmunk’s towering rage at my infiltration of its territory (sorry Dale – or Chip – but this is what we humans do); g) A few select bottles of wines from South Africa, the Argentine, and the cheaper side of California – no big drunk this, only a little early-evening pottedness that keeps the lure of the wilderness a bit romantic - the sunset last night was something out of Frederic Edwin Church; h) Two airline-size bottles of Courvoisier cognac, which, after an acquaintance with a gentleman who deigned to indulge in a nipperkin of Scotch at the end of a day’s travel in India, I have welcomed as a properly civilizing agent when facing uncharted and potentially savage regions; i-z) Many other minor items to make camp life easier – including an iPod, which I haven’t even bothered to fire up on this visit; a full-size MagLite (nice logo by Saul Bass), not really needed, as the starlight above is ample illumination by which to whiz in the night; plus a bottle of Branston pickle, some salt and pepper, etc.

Despite my preparedness, there’s a climate of natural grandeur that’s just in the process of showing up. It’s sure to break the tedium of the humidity. In the distance but getting closer, thunder sounds, like Afghanistan/Pakistan drone strikes, I should think. Past the ‘vault toilet’ here in camp (cast in terracotta concrete so as to look like a picturesque shack), the solemn and ancient ponderosa pines out-vindicate any little effort humans might make to prove the size of their dicks - in order, let’s say, to mimic Thor’s anger through the noise of warfare.

And the winds come. My Bug House lies flattened. Even though I scuttled its sails, ten minutes later the not-so-gentle breeze abated. But no harm done. However, a tree just collapsed somewhere near, with a tremendous crash. I effect an immediate assessment of tree threats. I uh, don’t know... quite what to do yet. Then the rains come. A good reason to cut the blithe bullshit and cower before the face of Nature’s awe.

Q: Should I leave? Should I stay?

A: I shall stay the course!

[I did indeed stay, and the gothic storm passed without further incident. The tent was gathered and dried (laboriously), and I inspected the fallen tree, a massive fir that was still living, but its roots had been compromised by its proximity to the paved road. Its hundred-foot elevation fell away from my camp, probably 300 feet distant. RIP.]

At any rate, I’m running on about my domicile here only to illustrate the fact that I’m away, but not very, from the society I tend to criticize yet remain a product/prisoner of. The consequences of this are not so much due to the physical environment I have made for myself here (e.g. the equipage just itemized), but the meditative/reverie-oriented burden I carry so as to pollute this quite nice little camp. I have to say, I’m an expert practitioner of ‘leave no trace’. I’m even a believer in leaving no trace of ‘leave no trace’. But when pressured thought crowds out everything else, I’d say there’s a problem. The fact is, I’ve got a lot on my mind. It’s controlling me. Not quite overwhelming me.