BabyDoomers...

"It's Never Too Late To Waste The Rest Of Your Life."

Prefacing whatever meanderings should follow, I confess to the fact that after the Real War—WW 11—both my mother and father were horny—at least for one night. The one night statement is a sure thing, as would evidence the scribing of this history. Of course, my sisters—there are two of them—might feel a little bit left- out and wonder what the inspiration for their birth might have been considering the immaculate conception had already been used as an excuse or source of motivation.

When I studied the “ Who, Where, What and When” of journalism many years ago, I was taught to address the purpose of the written matter right up front; or simply put, what do you want to say? Of course, my teachers, who should all be taking the long, dirt- nap by now, never heard of the word “site”. They would be distressed if they read a introduction: “ The purpose of this site is to “ Yada, Yada.” A site in the 60’s was a place where nuclear weapons were launched—not ideas! And, hell, Jerry Seinfeld hadn’t even had his Bar Mitzvah.

I guess the official line is that a Baby Boomer is a person who was conceived, or ill conceived—if you know some of the people I’ve known—within the years following that universal calamity or that other universal calamity, the Korean War. Although, I have just read that, officially—and who decides that—the years to qualify as a “BB” are 1945—1964. That makes three wars, assuming you want to include that Vietnam thing. If you’re noticing some correlation connecting birth and war, welcome to my mind probe. Sex is always preferable to being shot at, I suppose. (Unless you’re an Eskimo.) So if you are somewhere between 44 and 63 you’re in—part of the club! The rest of you—go croak in your own era!

We certainly have been witnesses to some incredible changes in our lifetime. Forget about the computer and that funny chip that makes it go. What about energy? You know, the house where I spent my formidable years had four energy sources in the 16 years I lived there; coal, electric, oil, and gas. That’s pretty freaking amazing? An automatic transmission in a car used to be an accessory and is now considered standard. Hugh Hefner was considered a pornographer. He is now discussed with reverence in college business courses. And while on the subject of sex, we used to take lessons from the older kid on the block who had a deck of dirty playing cards to illustrate the new language we were learning. Now Junior just has to know how to surf the web and double click to get his jollies.

Well, I don’t intend to anoint myself as the official chronicler of our generation. I don’t really care that much about what happened, is happening or is going to happen. When someone asks me, “What are you doing?” my standard response is “ Waiting to die, how ‘bout you?” I’m not a cynical person, but life has a natural distorted appearance for me; kind of like looking at myself in those funny mirrors at a carnival. Maybe, it was too much masturbation with those playing cards.

So, I’ll post up everyday. If you decide to follow my mumblings, great! If you don’t, I hope your wife gives birth to a child when your 63. If you have any questions, call me. If I have any questions, I’ll call you. Considering we don’t have each other’s number, let’s call it a draw and call someone else!

Billy P
About The Author…

Billy P. was born in 1947. Shortly thereafter, and knowing that he would imminently receive his draft- notice, he joined the United States Army. In the immediate months following his discharge, he was fired from the first four jobs he had taken. This suggested that a life-long pursuit of underachievement might be a worthwhile undertaking.

He currently operates a river tour service in Bangladesh. His favorite color is pink.