GenUflection
I spent the better part of last night's "West Wing" trying to explain to my son the history of nuclear proliferation, which is the sort of quality time we cherish and why he is running away from home today.
In all fairness, I was probably inspired by another really, really boring episode of my favorite show, something NBC is getting good at producing (February Sweeps motto: "Oh, You'll Watch It Anyway"). So I droned on about the Manhattan Project and Hiroshima and John probably regretted giving up an hour of playing Star Fox for this and it occurred to me that we exploded a couple of big bombs in 1945 and then everyone went home and made babies.
I knew this, of course. It was just an odd juxtaposition. The Bomb and Boomers.
I've been thinking a lot about my particular generation lately. I recently made an interesting discovery, which I can't exactly verify but I read it on the Internet so it must be true (I have money coming from Nigeria any day now). Tucked inside the biggest demographic bump of the last century, this group of us born between 1946 and 1964, is a nice little spike: In 1957 and 1958, more babies were born than before or after.
I pointed this out to my friend Rita the other night, whom I refer to as Lovely Rita behind her back for a reason all Boomers can figure out. Rita is my age, 45, born in 1958, and she didn’t know we were special, either.
We are the uberBoomers, then, Generation U, the youngest people on the planet who remember when Kennedy was killed, born a little too late for Sesame Street and draft cards, virgin voters in 1976, just watchers in the 60s when our older brothers and sisters got to protest and take their clothes off and have all the fun. We think of Adam West as the one and only Batman. We were already in bed when the first episode of “Star Trek” aired. We are drifters in a generation chock full of icons and Special Bulletins, stranded somewhere between Vietnam and video games, and we have absolutely no chance of getting Social Security.
I’m not going to talk about disco.
But there are a lot of us, apparently, so I say we get organized. We are automatically elite, after all; Bill Gates can’t buy his way in (1955) and Tom Hanks can’t charm us out of a membership (1956). There is strength in numbers and we have very specific ones.
So it starts now, the Official UberBoomer Movement (do not say this fast). Our mission is to establish an official Gen U ideology, cause, and cultural identity marker (nobody suggest “Welcome Back, Kotter,” please). And maybe our own Visa card, I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud here.
I’m nominating Kevin Bacon (July 8, 1958) as our chairman, because of the whole six degrees thing. Someone please tell Kevin.
The first step is to always read this blog, every day, as there will be many updates on our progress unless I forget about this, which is likely. And we’re not snobs; we welcome thoughts and advice from all of the non-U you. It’s not your fault you can’t come in the clubhouse. And maybe you wouldn’t want to. It’s not easy being U. There’s the disco thing.
I’d be interested in finding more Ubers, particularly famous ones. We’re going to need some name recognition if this thing is going to get off the ground. I tried doing a quick search online by typing “tell me the names of famous people born in 1957 or 1958” but my computer made some strange noises and that Mr. Jeeves guy made motions like he was going to slit his throat, so I’ll have to depend on the kindness of strangers.
So let’s get with it, people. Atomic batteries to power, turbines to speed.
Did I mention that someone needs to tell Kevin? Thanks.
(I remember where I heard that stat now. It was in a Salon article written by David Bowman. David can be group treasurer.)
9:14:55 AM 
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