Any day now I expect to get an e-mail
from one of the many editors of the magazines and newspapers who run
this column informing me they no longer want my essays because I can’t
relate to the millennial generation. To which I say, “Their parents
can’t even relate to them and they’ve been living in the same house with
them for 26 years, so how do they expect me to?”
They say this because of…
•
My continuing reference to things or people that only old geezers like
myself have heard of, such as Pall Mall cigarettes, Rexall Drug, soda
fountains and the two Andys, Andy Griffith and Andy Williams.
•
The fact they are unable to reach me on my cell phone, find me on
Facebook or “tweet” to me. Maybe that’s because I’m not on Facebook, I
don’t twitter tweets and all the phones in our house have something
called “cords.”
• I continue to refer
to countries that no longer exist, like Yugoslavia, and sports teams
that haven’t been around for decades such as the Seattle Seahawks and
New Orleans Jazz.
•
The handful of millenials who do read my column don’t like it when I
make fun of their lip jewelry, colorful tattoos or that they are
struggling to repay their $200,000 college loan while writing an advice
column on their blog while living in their parents’ basement.
•
I continue to use words that are no longer used by the general public
such as cattywampus, chucklehead, dance hall, varmints, lunch bucket,
cooties, gallivanting, persnickety and pipsqueaks.
• A more urbanized audience knows little about agriculture and I only
confuse them when I refer to things like PTO, brucellosis and lactation.
They either have never heard of, or have never used, tools such as the
hoe, shovel and ball pein hammer.
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