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American Midol: 2004 Goes SPLAT
Dec 31 2004 by Lani VoivodWe – the turbo-charged, super-stressed, latté-fueled, free-range non-radicals of the third millennia – request all irrelevant historical and sentimental paraphernalia (such as 2004) kindly get the hell out of our way.
We're living in an age where everything actually IS available to us.
It's an ethereal time in which jaunts to exotic locales – toting everything from computers to kids to chiropractic equipment – is not only possible, but practically standard.
Or, fortified with nothing but a fanciful whimsy and a credit card number, we might choose to sit on our butts, type in requests, and have anything we want sent to our doorstep – often with a substantial shipping-and-handling discount. (Oh, happy day!)
Another year turns to dust, and we hardly notice. We're not of the ilk to look back! (Who has that kind of time, anyway?!) We've got classes to take and enterprises to launch and dreams to pursue and art to create and passions to honor and lava-drenched talents oozing out of our kneecaps.
In fact, it turns out we actually ARE the chosen ones! We're that long-awaited generation that's literally going to change the world and make it better. Isn't that something?!
We'll pluckily lead the chorus that inspires all opposable-thumbed inhabitants to sing together – to chant and hum and rap an Earth-wide anthem, co-penned by Bono, Paul Simon, and Dave Matthews and hipped up by Pink, Eminem, and at least one of P. Diddy's protégés.
On the windshield of our generation's life, 2004 is nothing more than a big, fat, annoying bug – an ugly critter that was doing its thing down the wrong strip o' highway, and now will never again dine on rotted carcass or freshly dropped scat.
Its mutated SPLAT is tainting our view, and must be wiped away with merciless immediacy.
Because when the Chosen Ones are looking ahead to saving our species' future, the least we deserve is an unobstructed view of the multi-synergistic, perfectly-branded horizon.
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