Generation A...

So, first phase of the operation is complete. I marched, businesslike, to the end of Generation A. Thoroughly enjoyable but, of course, it could never hope to be as zeitgeisty as its predecessor (Generation X), which, as the Telegraph pointed out back in the day, was/is "a landmark book". Indeed, it's a different beast altogether. Enough reviews exist out there in the internetether so I won't add to the interference, aside from mumbling that the whole thing is an interesting - and naturally Couplandesque - take on modernity that stresses the importance of the written word and storytelling. If I could embrace a condition mentioned in the book it would be logo dysphoria - the inability to perceive corporate logos. Marvellous. I'll steer clear of the Solon though - and stick with the books.

Those pivotal moments...

I'd known Mike for about six months when I found myself in his bedroom. It was a crap pile. Stacks of Sight & Sound at the end of his bed. A desk littered with sketches, modelling clay and craft knives. Some mix tape laid on its side, with his clearly indentifiable scrawl all over it (Mike was a lover of Fineliners; his resultant style was somewhat inkblottyreminiscent of Ralph Steadman). He showed me his books. Several of them were protected within polybags. If I'm not mistaken they were filed alphabetically. There was a lot of Terry Pratchett. There was some shit about JFK. Possibly a little volume about Elvis (the memory kinda fades in some areas). There was Douglas Coupland's Generation X: Tales For An Accelerated Culture.

Lessness: A philosophy whereby one reconciles oneself with diminishing expections of material wealth.

Legislated Nostalgia: To force a body of people to have memories they do not actually possess.

Overboarding: Overcompensating for fears about the future by plunging headlong into a job or lifestyle seemingly unrelated to one's previous life interests.

This book was talking to me.

Mike placed the Coup' in a polybag and let me leave the house with it. It's not something, I gathered, that he did very often - hence the over-protective anality of the polybags. But I am eternally grateful for that moment in time, that fine gesture. He got the book back and I went on a never-ending journey.