It will probably come as no surprise to those aware of my girlish-nerdish-ness that George Negus is a bit of a sex symbol for me.
As a teenager, George was only outfoxed in my dreams by Dean Cain and Stuart Littlemore, and seriously, how daggy is that?
Dean Cain. Dear oh dear.
Anyway, a story on George's 6:30 program this evening highlighted the financial perils facing "Generation X". Stuck between the greedy, selfish Baby Boomers, and the greedy, selfish Gen Ys, the Gen-Xers are apparently up the shallow end of s**t creek, with nary a term deposit or share portfolio paddle to be seen.
Finances aside, what struck me about the story is that it identified "Generation X" as those aged 30 to 50.
Well, hang on now. I'm *gulp* 30.
(I'm still getting used to saying that. Let's ignore my impending 31st birthday, shall we?)
Back in my early 20s, I was placed very firmly in the "GenY" camp, by the media, and by older, more sarcastic GenX friends who looked at my "mobile phone" and "car" and scoffed in disgust. And there was more ample evidence to support their view. I lived at home until I was 25. I went from school, to uni, to part-time, to full-time work. I never got around to smoking marijuana. I'm launching into the third of the John Birmingham Felafel plays, How To Be a Man, and I still have no idea of the physics behind the bucket bong. I NEVER EVEN SAW REALITY BITES.
I seemed to be GenY, no doubt about it.
Except now, the years have moved on, and the generations appear to have shifted. Even the Wikipedia entry suggests GenX stretches as far as 1982.
This now puts me, according to George Negus....
...firmly into the GenX camp.
But I don't feel very GenX. But then, I never felt particularly GenY, not on the inside anyway.
So, stuff it. I'm launching a NEW generation.
Generation Clumsy (aka GenClum) is a non-birthdate-related generation. It is open to ALL comers.
I mean, it helps if you were born in 1980, truly the greatest of years. What didn't happen in 1980?
OK, off the top of my head, not that much. John Lennon left the world a few months after I entered it. And thank goodness, really, I couldn't have borne much more of that self-indulgent nude whining.*
But, even if you aren't vintage 1980, there are other traits and characteristics that will endow you as Generation Clumsy.
How's your physical balance and sense of grace? Shot to hell? Excellent, you're in.
Obsessed with the song "Africa" by Toto at all? You KNOW you're GenClum.
Do you have a healthy sense of skepticism about organised religion, politics and women's magazines, but a near-fanatical belief that Tony Martin is a super-genius from another planet sent to Earth to illuminate the path to a comedy heaven, and you would happily drink the Kool-Aid and pop on the Nike sneakers to join him on the Hale-Bopp comet to go there?
Do you like making jokes about now-obscure 1990s cults, even though people died? Is that the kind of person you are?
Do you sometimes dance in your living room and pretend you're a pop/rock star? .... No, me neither.**
Do you occasionally feel that you never do the right thing, no matter how hard you try?
Game of Thrones - awesome, or totally awesome? Either is acceptable.
Broccoli stems remain uneaten on your dinner plate? Even when it's the Great Pretender, broccolini?
Have you dropped your smartphone a number of times, but it's still mysteriously going?
Are you, like, NOT into sport?
Do you desperately wish to be "cool", but know deep down in your heart that the "cool" boat sailed sometime in your teens, and you were the unicorn left back on dry land, even though that analogy makes no sense because obviously unicorns ARE cool so maybe you were like a lesser species of badger or something that was too slow to hop onboard the ark and probably no boy lesser-badgers liked you anyway because of your bad acne.
Did you have bad acne?
Do you feel a slightly arrogant sense of superiority when you drop historical references into conversation? Like that time Sir Isaac Newton said that if he saw further, it was only because he stood on the shoulders of giants?
And finally, do you have bizarre but justifiable yearnings for well-mustachioed journalists?
Then you, my friend, can apply to be in Generation Clumsy.
**I totally do that.