It seems but a short while ago that the baby boomers were called by other monikers, according in great part to our philosophical, social, and fashion sensibilities – hippies, mods, rockers, rednecks, heads, straights, among others. We were, as a group, restless, questioning, and in many cases, driven by a wanderlust our post-WWII, post-Great Depression parents could never comprehend. In spite of, or perhaps due to being such a diverse generation, we all seemed to share one trait. We were always in the minority.

Fast forward to 2015, and we, the eternally young, are getting old. We don’t think we look old, despite our rapidly colour-changing or vanishing hair, our daily deepening wrinkles, and our parents’ paunch, all of which we seem to have inherited within the last few months. We certainly don’t feel like we’re old, aside from our skeletal barometers that are more accurate in predicting changes in weather than any television meteorologist. It is just that things today are heavier or further away than they used to be. We’re still cool, even if it takes a few extra vitamins and blue pills to keep us that way, and our bean bag chairs have been replaced by recliners. Our music, of course, remains the pinnacle of the ages, surely more relevant than the racket being made by the X-ers, Y-ers, millennials, or whatever the kids of today call themselves.

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