Saw a social media alert the other day that proclaimed boomers just can’t give up some uncool things. What followed was an interesting list that came as a slideshow, forcing you to click NEXT over and over in order to see the list. Oh, and you also had to see dozens of ads of course. The ultimate click bait exercise. But, since my mission is to write about all things boomer, I dutifully clicked through the list.
Leading off the list of uncool things that boomers cannot quit was Jorts. Know what those are? I never heard of the term, but the accompanying photo showed a man wearing blue jean shorts. Get it? Jorts. The site insisted that jorts were ridiculous because denim is too heavy to be worn as shorts. Can’t say that I disagree but I also can’t say that I’ve seen any baby boomers wearing them.
Next on the list was 24-hour news. Boomers are uncool because they watch 24-hour news? But on the upside, it might make them more well-informed than people who only watch the Bachelorette. This was followed by Hawaiian Shirts. Now we’re getting somewhere. Boomers probably do wear too many of these shirts, but rarely with jorts so that should count for something.
Then came Dad Slacks, Home Shopping Networks and Velcro Shoes. Fine with me. Those really are very passé. Likewise, Cruises, All-You-Can-Eat Buffets, Sweepstakes and Crocs could go the way of the dodo bird and I wouldn’t shed any tears.
Three items on the list baffled me. Emailing, Ironing and Toast. Sure, texting and DM’s are the dominant forms of communication for all of us, but emails are still useful for complex content. And ironing a nice cotton shirt to wear for an evening out? What’s your problem? Toast? It’s not as cool as waffles and breakfast burritos apparently. Try it with buttered homemade bread slathered with homemade jam and then try to tell me that toast is toast.
And you’re welcome. I clicked through all those stupid ads just for you.
Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle. You can also visit his author page here.
Ann Pattchet’s Bookstore asks, ‘why write?’ when there are so many great writers out there. It’s in Nashville. And as if there isn’t enough music on every corner and bar to grab you by the ears, inside the bookstore there is a recital in progress with a series of singers performing their party pieces to polite applause. More overwhelming than yet more music is the sheer number of books, books, books. The store has half a wall dedicated to Ann’s works alone. Rows of her paperbacks and hardcovers grouped by subtle colors and size are surrounded in turn by Clancy’s and Grisham’s and Patterson’s garish, grinning teeth begging for extraction.
We don’t like to waltz. It’s a matter of taste. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. It’s annoyingly old-fashioned.
I’m the last person who would sign up for a high school reunion, but I freely admit I am curious to know what happened to everyone. Maybe I could just read the book (or wait for the movie). It would be fun to know if some of the high school girlfriends got married (and whether they are still married or twice divorced by now). There’s also the fantasy where the goody two shoes girl who could do nothing wrong got busted on a prostitution charge, but that never happens. She really was perfect, and still is, although she has paid a tremendous price by enduring 30 years of therapy to try to feel like something approaching normal. I have some perverse curiosity about whether Doug still plays the trombone and was Barry really gay or just pretending to be. We didn’t even use the word gay back then! Do the former majorettes still have thighs that can mesmerize me, or are those days gone forever?
Some of us chose retirement, and others were squeezed out or forced out of jobs earlier than they had hoped. Or maybe it got so bad you just said, screw it, I’m out of here.
Martin strolled through the resort. They call it a resort he mused, but it’s actually a trailer park…a nice trailer park, for sure, on a canal to the Gulf but, most importantly, it’s a spot under the soothing southern sun after months of snow-blown Michigan. Down to his T-shirt to open his ‘fifth wheel,’ he exulted in the first-of-the-season feeling of indecent exposure from walking around in his underwear—a mobile solar panel soaking up vitamin D and energy. An alligator was doing the same on the boat launch. I can relate, buddy, he thought to himself, as he skirted wide.
