GENERATION GAP: "HEY DUDE?"

ANDY ROONEY, ANDY-FRIGGIN- ROONEY FROM SIXTY-FRIGGIN MINUTES. THE OLDEST, CRODGIEST, SHAKIEST HANDS, BLIND AS A BAT, PUKING ANDY ROONEY!!!!!



MY YOUNGEST CHILD, MICKEY (NOT HIS REAL NAME), INFORMS ME THE OTHER DAY THAT MY WRITING STYLE REMINDS HIM OF (WHAT'S THAT OLD BLIND GUY'S NAME, OH YEAH) ANDY ROONEY!!!! That old goat is so far out of it that he can not even be in the same league as cool old daddy-o Me. He's not in the same orbit. I'm the coolest, hippest, swinging cat on the face of the planet and to be compared to that one foot on a banana peel Geezer is a real shot to the chops. A punch to the chest. A heart stopper. When Mickey informed me of his opinion about my "STYLE", I lost my breath for a second. I was aghast. As I regained my composure, I said in amazement:" Huh, who?"" Do you even know who Rooney is?" "When did you ever watch 60 minutes?" Mickey says:" I caught him once as I was flippin through the channels." I say:" You caught him once, and now you can compare my brilliant, humorous, young energetic vibe and rhetoric to his lame ass dialogue?"



I've been doing some self analyzing since that cold cock (that's a term from when someone punches you in the face without you being prepared) bit of analysis was thrown at me like a rock at a Taliban stoning ceremony. I've always pictured myself as trans-generational ( DON'T EVEN CONFUSE THAT WITH TRANS GENDER); too cool for school, able to talk and converse with any age group. I've got the lingo from the 50's: "Daddy-o, cool cat"; from the 60's: "far out, Bitchin, pass the weed, good shit"; from the 70's: " snow, blow, double knits, acid rock, heavy metal (not much in the 70's); from the 80's: "dude, greed is good"; from the 90's: "will work for food (hah,hah)", "give me money", (90's sucked); from the 00's: "sweet","tight", (I can't think of much from 00's). Maybe it's true, perhaps I've lost touch, and can't communicate in a brain dead, monotone, single syllable dialogue. All those times that I thought I was being "with-it" and hip, and "in the now", it turns out that these young ones were being polite and waiting for more of my beer. They were tolerant in want of booze. Exchanging my engaging colloquy for free libation. I wasn't observant enough to judge the blank lifeless stares that were returned to me as I displayed brilliant coolness as I lectured on in the face of youth. All the while I'm being judged as an over-the-hill youth seeking junkie that doesn't know his place.

Ah, woe is me. My son the professor and me the student. The tables have turned and now I must learn my place, which is somewhere between Bruce Willis and Jack Nicholson; Tom Hanks and Clint Eastwood; Homer Simpson and the Family Guy.

Unfortunately, my style is my style. When I'm hot, I'm hot and when I'm stylin, I'm stylin. My age is my age and there is nothing I can do about it. I guess it's not all bad being compared to a guy that is a gillion years old, half blind and all but dead and been on T.V. for decades, after all he's been around for a hundred years, maybe I will be too.