An End to the Oughts

There have been a lot of milestones in the 00s, for both the world as a whole and specifically my generation. In the course of this decade a variety of activities have become legal for myself and my peers, ranging from driving an automized vehicles to imbibing in both firesticks and firewater. This world we live in has become so bizarre that I’ve managed to see a Stir Fry Wednesday take place on a Tuesday. And it was glorious.

The online landscape has flourished as well in these last ten years. Terms that are staples in how we describe our virtual facet of life, such as hulu, twitter, facebook, myspace, wikipedia, youtube, and gmail; would have been gibberish and signs of a weak mind at the beginning of the current millennium. And now these terms help define how we view ourselves to our friends, co-workers, family and random strangers across the globe.

Some part of me has resisted this shift into more and more Interweb forms of communication and self-identity, but even I, albeit grudgingly, have a created an online version of myself. Some days, when I’m feeling virtually suicidal, I have thoughts of deleting all my accounts, detwittering myself and destroying my facebook persona. But in the end it never happens. Somehow these programs have fastened themselves to my brain in such a way that I feel that they are indeed an extension of myself. Quite the amazing technological symbiote relationship, one that I only see getting stronger with the advent of the iPhones and Blackberries, where all these various digital networks are at your fingertips wherever and whenever you find yourself.

I guess it’s for the best, considering the core group of people I associate with are now scattered across several states at least. Makes it so we don’t go crazy thinking we’re alone, but on the other hand, makes it hard to feel that physical connection of actually sitting down face to face and talking to another human being. I guess for now, I’ll have to settle for staying connected via a flatscreen As we approach the end of this arbitrary division of time, I find myself getting somewhat nostalgic, and that’s even without the assistance of a couple G&Ts. If and when that happens this holiday season, I might end up pouring out some on the linoleum in remembrance of our fallen homies.

This last decade has witnessed the rise and spectacular fall of the kings of the revivalist surf music, Sweet Joseph and the Singing Happies (or Suite Joszephf y del Singgin Happys to all their international fans out there in cyberspace).

These brave young musicians stood firm in the face of adversity, creating a positive message for the youth, at least until they self-destructed in a haze of drugs and a fireball of dreams. Their memory lives on in everyone who sees visions of the fusion of life and music realized under a great big tent set up right next to the soothing sounds of the lapping ocean.

And now we need to fill our glasses once again with some high-class hooch to properly toast the upcoming end of the oughts.  So let’s throw caution to the wind, and, to paraphrase Mel Brooks, continue to do all those things we oughtn’t to do, but do anyway. Raise your glass and join me as we drink ourselves stupid to help make the annoying upcoming tween years flyby so we can get to the fun of the rebelious teenager years of this century, followed by another go-round of some roaring twenties. I simply can’t wait for the return of the era of the flapper and bootlegger. I for one, am ready to hit that speakeasy for some-high class bathtub gin.