Grup You
Meet the Grups:
Yup. My teen-age son's girlfriend was over last night. He was making dinner for her while she was crawling through my CD collection and actually not laughing, but being pleased with what she saw in it (and not just "retro" stuff like the Clash and the Ramones). Oh, and my 35-year-old wife looks f***ing hot in those Mudds.
This is an obituary for the generation gap. It is a story about 40-year-old men and women who look, talk, act, and dress like people who are 22 years old. It’s not about a fad but about a phenomenon that looks to be permanent. It’s about the hedge-fund guy in Park Slope with the chunky square glasses, brown rock T-shirt, slight paunch, expensive jeans, Puma sneakers, and shoulder-slung messenger bag, with two kids squirming over his lap like itchy chimps at the Tea Lounge on Sunday morning. It’s about the mom in the low-slung Sevens and ankle boots and vaguely Berlin-art-scene blouse with the $800 stroller and the TV-screen-size Olsen-twins sunglasses perched on her head walking through Bryant Park listening to Death Cab for Cutie on her Nano.
Yup. My teen-age son's girlfriend was over last night. He was making dinner for her while she was crawling through my CD collection and actually not laughing, but being pleased with what she saw in it (and not just "retro" stuff like the Clash and the Ramones). Oh, and my 35-year-old wife looks f***ing hot in those Mudds.
