A rant on early millennial awareness and a letter to Kevin Bacon about ’80s awareness.

kevin bacon talking about millenials

Friends, if you happened to when you logged into Facebook this morning, you might have noticed a familiar name and most pressing topic in the top right region of your newsfeed: Kevin Bacon and ‘80s awareness. Mashable, I see right through you and your pushing-for-viral #SXSW content. It’s the craziest thing! After sacrificing 1:52 minutes I will never get back, I really want to do The Following (see what I did there):

  • Eat pork (on purpose) for the first time in about 8 years
  • Watch The Following on Fox  (now you see it)
  • “Visit” another Mashable post about 9 pickup lines inspired by favorite ‘90s cartoons (because I remember that decade)
  • Play six-degrees-of-separation (that’s only a little bit true, but I’m trying to stay on topic)
  • Rewind the clock and force myself into a more redeeming existence a few years earlier (damn you, 1988 birth certificate)

But it’s not your fault, Mashable, and it’s probably not yours either, Kevin Bacon. I don’t hate you because you’re wrong, you’re wrong because I hate you. I don’t even hate you; ‘twas merely an obligatory Mean Girls reference because, hey, I’m a lame millennial. And I actually think you’re neat. So neat, I penned The Following (Crazy! Totally unintentional but I’ll leave it):

Dear Kevin Bacon,

Congratulations on your last name.

Oops, sorry, definitely not what I wanted to say. Must be that flighty attention span, LOL! #Millennialproblems.

I’m writing in response to your millennial-targeted message with a counter to your ’80s Awareness issue: EARLY MILLENNIAL AWARENESS. We get it; we suck. Many of us would and do admit to being a little bit technologically spoiled and therefore a lot softer as a generational whole. But we are not all the same. OK listen, 1988 is no 1992, so cut the prejudice horseshit and save it for your Twitter feed (don’t think we don’t see you).

We get that the ’80s were cool, but the next time you agree to sit in front of a camera and preach on the character-building value of white pages, Rubik’s cubes, Blockbuster rentals and Cold War fears, you damn well better recognize that I spent many a Saturday afternoon nodding and giggling in front of I Love the ’80s (because I had no ride to Blockbuster) thinking, “Hehe, freaking Monchhichi puppets. I love the ’80s.” Does that make me a hipster? I now live in Brooklyn. AND I LIKE IT.

Know, too, that while watching this VH1 classic my Away Message on the shared, phat-bottomed family desktop read “Out…” and that the moment the elders (my brothers) decided to wake and carpe some weekend diem, my digital time was toast and again I was virtually unreachable except by way of the landline.

You say “All you born after 1985 have no idea what I’m talking about.” I challenge you, Kevin Bacon, to beat four siblings to the phone when He Who Must Not Be Named (but only initialed in my AIM profile) phones in an old-school invitation to hang out. “No, I can’t go to Subway, and you must never call here again,” you’d whisper, cowering in the privacy of the laundry room circa 2001. Of course it hurt when Alicia rejected your Sbarro date, but you fail to understand the misery endured on the other end of your rotary-dial telephone. You got her mother? Count your blessings, Mr. Bacon. Count your blessings.

You say we’ll never know the comfort of parachute pants? Harem pants, Mr. Bacon. Harem pants.

Not all millennials lost their formative years to cellphones and Likes. End of rant. Safe travels from Austin, and remember: I like you.

kevin bacon dancing in footloose movie