Friday, May 16, 2014

An Open Letter To The Next Generation

Hello, children of the next generation. I know the world will have a tendency to feel bad for you. Between climate change and unheard-of advances in technology, you will be facing obstacles that my generation would never have dreamed of. It's genuinely questionable whether, as a race, you will survive or not. Scores of voices across the land will wish you courage and peace.

Me, I'm going to tell them to shut up.

I mean, c'mon -- every generation has its problems. You just have to deal with it. In fact, this generation's problems are NOTHING compared to the obstacles my generation faced.

When I was in my twenties, for instance, gay people couldn't get married. So you're up to your ankles in water because all the glaciers have melted? Wah wah wah. While you're drowning, at least you've got a hubby to hug!

Panthers, tigers, rhinos, gorillas, pandas, and lions have all gone extinct? Whoopee. It's not like they used to be walking down Main Street. We had to go to zoos to see them. You're in the same boat we were, and we didn't get to make out with football players on ESPN.

Of course, antibiotics are going to stop working in a few years, so everybody will have VD. NOOOOOO! At least you can comfort yourself by watching Jon Hamm in no knickers. My generation, if we wanted to see a basket, we had to watch eight hours of doctor shit on TV hoping Marcus Welby would eventually sit down. You didn't have blue balls for eight weeks before the J. C. Penney catalog came out.

When I was a kid, sure, the weather was lovely. Puffy little clouds dotted the crystal blue sky and cool breezes wafted the scent of lilac and cedar around the old swimming hole. If a gay kid wanted to hit the big time, though, he'd have to sleep with Richard Deacon or Paul Lynde. So you're whining because you have to crank up the a/c when you're in bed with Zachary Quinto or Matt Bomer? Screech screech goes the world's tiniest violin. And the remote control is sooo far away.

Life is never going to be a picnic, so I recommend doing what we did: make up a pithy little slogan to keep your spirit up. "When life gives you lemons," we decided, "make lemonade."

Sure, it won't be easy. The future is going to give you an overheated, underfed, tornado-ravaged oligarchy. Make up your own pithy slogan. I don't know: maybe something about scones.

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