'Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man'
James Baker
Issue date: 2/11/09 Section: Opinion
"Though you might hear laughing, spinning, swinging madly across the sun, it's not aimed at anyone, it's just escaping on the run. And but for the sky there are no fences facing." - Bob Dylan
Ensconced in the revelry of Super Bowl Sunday, I watched the heartbreaking defeat of the Rev. Kurt Warner in a game that featured perhaps the worst offering of commercials in years. While inhaling my teriyaki chicken wings and creamed coleslaw, my stomach turned when Pepsi flaunted its commercials.
The MacGyver parody was decent enough, but the generational comparisons nearly made me choke on a paprika potato wedge.
When the split-screen showed John Belushi and Jack Black, I found it a forgivable offense, as most haven't seen Belushi in movies like "1941." Plus he died young.
Garishly comparing Will.i.am. to Bob Dylan, though, brought down the house. All the 18- to 20-year-olds at the quaint gathering bemoaned the image and cursed at the cola brand, which surprised me; I thought I was an old grump as a 22-year-old in the twilight of my college being.
I wondered if anyone outside of our collegiate demographic felt the same way, as 40-year-olds knew Bob as a legend when they were teenagers in the '80s. Twenty years before that, Dylan played in a segregated South.
And then I wondered what exactly our generation has. Hell, who are we?
We've been called the most obedient generation in decades. We haven't felt the blistering torrent of water from a fire hose. We've never experienced the chaos that ensues after a tear gas assault on a student protest.
As bad as things are, we don't have the Great Depression, and certainly not World War II, where contributing to the war effort didn't necessitate glory or recognition. They were just doing their job.
We don't have '60s drug culture, but we have a bizarre penchant for prescription medications. To hell with the risks of overdose, death or a loose stool man, it's legal, so it must be OK!
Ensconced in the revelry of Super Bowl Sunday, I watched the heartbreaking defeat of the Rev. Kurt Warner in a game that featured perhaps the worst offering of commercials in years. While inhaling my teriyaki chicken wings and creamed coleslaw, my stomach turned when Pepsi flaunted its commercials.
The MacGyver parody was decent enough, but the generational comparisons nearly made me choke on a paprika potato wedge.
When the split-screen showed John Belushi and Jack Black, I found it a forgivable offense, as most haven't seen Belushi in movies like "1941." Plus he died young.
Garishly comparing Will.i.am. to Bob Dylan, though, brought down the house. All the 18- to 20-year-olds at the quaint gathering bemoaned the image and cursed at the cola brand, which surprised me; I thought I was an old grump as a 22-year-old in the twilight of my college being.
I wondered if anyone outside of our collegiate demographic felt the same way, as 40-year-olds knew Bob as a legend when they were teenagers in the '80s. Twenty years before that, Dylan played in a segregated South.
And then I wondered what exactly our generation has. Hell, who are we?
We've been called the most obedient generation in decades. We haven't felt the blistering torrent of water from a fire hose. We've never experienced the chaos that ensues after a tear gas assault on a student protest.
As bad as things are, we don't have the Great Depression, and certainly not World War II, where contributing to the war effort didn't necessitate glory or recognition. They were just doing their job.
We don't have '60s drug culture, but we have a bizarre penchant for prescription medications. To hell with the risks of overdose, death or a loose stool man, it's legal, so it must be OK!
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