Read Generation X for Free Online Page B
Authors: Douglas Coupland
outdoor tabletop while forceful winds, unsea-problem because partners can sonably fierce, swept down from Mount San Jacinto. I remember the
simply seek a divorce.
morbid snippets of chitchat that were being prattled around the table by the hordes of sleek and glamorous young Baxters:
"It was His ter, not Hitler, Nostradamus predicted," one brother, Allan, a private school Biff-and-Muffy type, yelled across a table, "and h e p r e d i c t e d t h e J F K a s s a s s i n a t i o n , t o o . ' "
"I don't remember the JFK assassination."
"I'm wearing a pillbox hat to the end of the world party at Zola's, tonight. Like Jackie. Very historical."
" T h e h a t w a s a H a l s t o n , y o u k n o w . "
" T h a t ' s s o Warh ol."
"Dead celebrities are, de f a c t o amusing."
"Remember that Halloween a few years ago during the Tylenol
tampering scare, when everyone showed up at parties dressed as boxes of Tylenol . . . "
". . . and then looked hurt when they realized they weren't the only ones who'd come up with the idea."
"You know, this is s o s t u p i d b e i n g h e r e b e c a u s e t h e r e a r e t h r e e
34
GENERATION X
earthquake faults that run right through the city. We might as well paint •gets on our shirts."
"Did Nostradamus ever say anything about random snipers?"
" C a n y o u m i l k h o r s e s ? " " W h a t ' s t h a t g o t t o d o w i t h a n y t h i n g ? "
Their talk was endless, compulsive, and indulgent, sometimes
s o unding like the remains of the English language after having been ANTI-SABBATICAL: A
h a shed over by nuclear war survivors for a few hundred years. But then job taken with the sole intention
their words so strongly captured the spirit of the times, and they remain of staying only for a limited
my mind:
period of time (often one year).
The intention is usually to raise
"I saw a record producer in the parking lot. He and wifey were enough funds to partake in
h e a d i n g t o Utah. T h e y s a i d t h i s p l a c e w a s a d i s a s t e r a r e a , a n d another, more personally
only
meaningful activity such as
watercolor sketching in Crete or
Utah was safe. They had this really hot gold Corniche, and in the trunk designing computer knit
they had cartons of freeze-dried army food and bottled water from Al-sweaters in Hong Kong.
berta. Wifey looked really scared."
Employers are rarely informed of
intentions.
"Did you see the pound of plastic lipofat in the nurse's office? Just Eke the fake fo o d i n s u s h i r e s t a u r a n t w i n d o w s . L o o k s l i k e a d i s h o f ra spberry kiwi fruit puree."
"Someone turn off the wind machine, for Chrissake, it's like a fa s h i o n s h o o t o u t h e r e . "
"Stop being such a male model."
"I'll hum some Eurodisco."
(Paper plates loaded wit h beef and chutney and baby vegetables w ere, at that point, gliding off the bright white tables, and into the pool.)
"Ignore the wind, Davie. Don't cosign nature's bullshit. It'll go a way."
"Hey . . . is it possible to damage the sun? I mean, we can wreck just about anything we want to here on earth. But can we screw up the sun if we wanted to? I don't know. Can we?"
"I'm more worried about computer viruses."
Claire got up and came over to the bar where I was working to pick
up her tray load of Cape Cods ("More Cape than Cod, please") and made s h r u g g i n g , "My family, zheeesh!" g e s t u r e . S h e t h e n w a l k e d b a c k t o t h e table, showing me her back, which was framed by a black one-piece swimsuit —a pale white back bearing a Silly Putty-colored espalier of cars. These were remnants, I discovered later on, of a long-past child-hood illness that immobilized her for years in hospitals spanning from Brentwood to Lausanne. In these hospitals doctors tapped vile viral syrups from her spine and in them she also spent the formative years of her life conversing with healing invalid souls —institutional borderline cases, the fringed, and the bent
simply seek a divorce.
morbid snippets of chitchat that were being prattled around the table by the hordes of sleek and glamorous young Baxters:
"It was His ter, not Hitler, Nostradamus predicted," one brother, Allan, a private school Biff-and-Muffy type, yelled across a table, "and h e p r e d i c t e d t h e J F K a s s a s s i n a t i o n , t o o . ' "
"I don't remember the JFK assassination."
"I'm wearing a pillbox hat to the end of the world party at Zola's, tonight. Like Jackie. Very historical."
" T h e h a t w a s a H a l s t o n , y o u k n o w . "
" T h a t ' s s o Warh ol."
"Dead celebrities are, de f a c t o amusing."
"Remember that Halloween a few years ago during the Tylenol
tampering scare, when everyone showed up at parties dressed as boxes of Tylenol . . . "
". . . and then looked hurt when they realized they weren't the only ones who'd come up with the idea."
"You know, this is s o s t u p i d b e i n g h e r e b e c a u s e t h e r e a r e t h r e e
34
GENERATION X
earthquake faults that run right through the city. We might as well paint •gets on our shirts."
"Did Nostradamus ever say anything about random snipers?"
" C a n y o u m i l k h o r s e s ? " " W h a t ' s t h a t g o t t o d o w i t h a n y t h i n g ? "
Their talk was endless, compulsive, and indulgent, sometimes
s o unding like the remains of the English language after having been ANTI-SABBATICAL: A
h a shed over by nuclear war survivors for a few hundred years. But then job taken with the sole intention
their words so strongly captured the spirit of the times, and they remain of staying only for a limited
my mind:
period of time (often one year).
The intention is usually to raise
"I saw a record producer in the parking lot. He and wifey were enough funds to partake in
h e a d i n g t o Utah. T h e y s a i d t h i s p l a c e w a s a d i s a s t e r a r e a , a n d another, more personally
only
meaningful activity such as
watercolor sketching in Crete or
Utah was safe. They had this really hot gold Corniche, and in the trunk designing computer knit
they had cartons of freeze-dried army food and bottled water from Al-sweaters in Hong Kong.
berta. Wifey looked really scared."
Employers are rarely informed of
intentions.
"Did you see the pound of plastic lipofat in the nurse's office? Just Eke the fake fo o d i n s u s h i r e s t a u r a n t w i n d o w s . L o o k s l i k e a d i s h o f ra spberry kiwi fruit puree."
"Someone turn off the wind machine, for Chrissake, it's like a fa s h i o n s h o o t o u t h e r e . "
"Stop being such a male model."
"I'll hum some Eurodisco."
(Paper plates loaded wit h beef and chutney and baby vegetables w ere, at that point, gliding off the bright white tables, and into the pool.)
"Ignore the wind, Davie. Don't cosign nature's bullshit. It'll go a way."
"Hey . . . is it possible to damage the sun? I mean, we can wreck just about anything we want to here on earth. But can we screw up the sun if we wanted to? I don't know. Can we?"
"I'm more worried about computer viruses."
Claire got up and came over to the bar where I was working to pick
up her tray load of Cape Cods ("More Cape than Cod, please") and made s h r u g g i n g , "My family, zheeesh!" g e s t u r e . S h e t h e n w a l k e d b a c k t o t h e table, showing me her back, which was framed by a black one-piece swimsuit —a pale white back bearing a Silly Putty-colored espalier of cars. These were remnants, I discovered later on, of a long-past child-hood illness that immobilized her for years in hospitals spanning from Brentwood to Lausanne. In these hospitals doctors tapped vile viral syrups from her spine and in them she also spent the formative years of her life conversing with healing invalid souls —institutional borderline cases, the fringed, and the bent