Age Against the Machine - Getting Older Without Getting Old

Last weekend, a snowstorm dumped about a foot of snow on us. Naturally, it was the perfect time to stay off the roads, scroll TikTok, and check out the new Fortnite chapter while everyone else played that seasonal game of “Am I in a lane?”

I love TikTok. The comedians, the gym people, the animal sanctuaries, the weird life hacks - all of it.

Except the creators whose entire personality is their generation.

My fellow Gen Xers are particularly notorious about this.

There are roll-call vids about drinking from the hose, getting paddled at school, a 'don't poke the bear' mentality, and also the generation that produced the greatest music, movies, fashion, childhoods, immune systems, and lawn dards civilization has ever been blessed with.

For a generation that prides itself on being unbothered, we seem awfully bothered now. I see a lot of women my age seeking validation by posing sans makeup at the gym. I see both sexes responding to mean-spirited videos with warnings about what happens if they "mess with GenX".

I thought we didn't give a shit what society thought of us.

Our whole thing was that we were the 'forgotten generation' anyway, so we never took anything too seriously - especially ourselves. Now a lot of us sound like every generation that came before us.

You either die a hero or live long enough to complain about 'damn kids' today.

Every generation passes down something unique and wonderful, and something that should probably die with them. Gen X is no exception.

We weren't forged in the fire just because we occasionally had to call the theater to find out showtimes.

The moment progress becomes stupid just because its new to you, your old.

I don't care what year you were born. You're old.

I'm 50. My knees crackle on the stairs, and I've had right-shoulder problems for years. Also, everything seems to be getting louder than it used to. I'm clearly getting older.

Except when I rode the Gravitron last summer. That was humbling

I wasn't a "gamer kid". I was an '80s kid, which meant I played with whatever was around: Barbies, G.I. Joe, skates, bikes, books, video games, and yes, the garden hose.

I still remember my first console: the Atari 2600, that wood-veneer block that always had dust trapped in the grooves. I spent hours playing games like Pole Position and Space Invaders, and far too much time on E.T., a game so notoriously terrible they buried the cartridges in the desert.

As an adult, fun became something I squeezed in between marriage, parenting, and work, if I had the time or energy, which was rarely both.

After my divorce, I got back into light gaming. My daughter and I played Guitar Hero, and eventually spent years watching the MCU together.

Then she grew up and I convinced myself I was too old for games, anyway. I donated the console and went back to being responsible and boring.

Until Covid.

My husband and I were living in a cabin in the woods. My work came to a screeching halt, and I found myself reading and doing enormous jigsaw puzzles. (I. Love. Puzzles. Still have no idea why.)

Eventually, I admitted that I missed gaming, so the Balkan Storm, ever romantic, bought me a pawn-shop Xbox that Christmas.

My daughter and I started playing together long-distance, even streamed for a while. Eventually she talked me into trying Fortnite.

I resisted until Chapter 2, Season 4.

The Marvel season.

Well played, Epic.

She tried to teach me the mechanics, but I just wanted to jump straight into a match "I learn by doing!" I said, before (arrogantly) adding, "How hard can it be?"

I landed sat Stark Industries and was immediately eliminated.

I was the first player out. My daughter audibly sighed.

But I learned, and we’ve been playing together ever since.

Every new Fortnite chapter changes the game. Weapons disappear, new items show up. Whatever strategy worked for you last season now gets you killed before you can find a decent gun.

You can complain that the old version was better, or you can figure out how the new one works.

You can’t survive the game if you refuse to adapt. Which is more or less the choice everyone else, no?

I still play on that old pawn-shop Xbox. My daughter and I are good enough not to humiliate ourselves, but nobody is asking us for tips, either.

But it gives us something mindless and fun to do together. It also keeps me curious about what people are watching, playing, creating, or arguing about.

Half of its weird, some of it is silly, but none of it is boring. That's what makes pop culture interesting.

Every time a studio recasts a role, changes an origin story, or pulls something from their dusty archives, the comment section becomes a slap-fight between "how dare they!" and "finally!".

And I get it.

Some performances become so definitive that imagining anyone else in the role feels almost insulting.

Marvel, a cultural juggernaut built on reinvention, is the perfect example.

I, for one, cannot imagine anyone other than the OG6 Avengers cast. I also don't want to think of anyone that isn't Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellen, or Kelsey Grammer in their X-Men roles.

However, these stories have to evolve, or they’ll die out completely.

And nobody wants that, do they?

That doesn't mean every new iteration will be good. The key to innovation is knowing what works and what gets buried in the desert.

This newest Fortnite season is in its Hollywood era, giving us Kill Bill and Back to the Future, with past seasons offering Sarah Connor, Ellen Ripley, Indiana Jones, Metallica, Eminem, and a robust offering of comic characters.

Nothing stays frozen in time, but very little disappears completely, either. If there's a fountain of youth, curiosity is probably the closest thing to it.

That doesn't mean pretending to be younger or chasing trends. Just resisting the urge to wave off something weird and different just because we aren't the target demographic.

If that makes me an old lady squinting at her Fortnite loadout, scrolling for movie leaks, and arguing with the young'uns about the Sokovia Accords...

Well. There are worse things to be.

Heather Papovich is the voice behind Unfinished Business. She's seen some things. She'll tell you about them.