24 Jul 2025 3 min read Pop Culture

GenX is Not Okay Right Now

I hate those Chat-GPT-inspired posts that clog my feed with “I wasn’t gonna post this” or “I didn’t plan to write this.”

I genuinely didn’t plan to write anything new this week.

I hate to complain, but my week has already been a shitshow: exhausting, disheartening, and straight-up FUBAR to the nth degree. And every time I think maybe I can escape into some low-effort doomscrolling, even that screws me over.

Especially this week. Including about an hour ago.

And just like that, now I have something to say.

First came the news four days ago: Malcolm-Jamal Warner tragically died in Costa Rica while vacationing with his family. The details that keep trickling in are just heartbreaking.

I can’t imagine the pain of flying back home from a family trip with an empty seat next to you that shouldn’t be, that you weren't expecting to be.

Conversely, when I saw the footage from Ozzy Osbourne’s recent farewell concert, I knew then he wouldn't be with us much longer.

But I didn’t think it would be that soon.

And just this morning, the proverbial “death always comes in threes’ moment happened (if you’re not counting Connie Francis, RIP):
Hulk Hogan. Cardiac arrest.

Three GenX icons gone in five days.

Holy. Crap.

As a child of the 80s, I avidly watched The Cosby Show. We all did. And while the legacy of that show aged like milk, MJW as Theo Huxtable was a Gen-X legend all the same.

His character was both funny and relatably flawed. Over time, MJW built a solid career as an actor, poet, and Grammy-winning musician.

He embodied so much of the Gen X spirit: understated, multi-talented, and constantly evolving, no matter what.

Ozzy.

My budding metalhead years had his music in my repertoire. And now, every road trip with my daughter, no matter how short, has one of us picking the perfect song to blast out the windows.

Ozzy's music will always remain in healthy rotation. His music continues to connect generations, and that’s no small thing.

And now Hulk Hogan.

WWE was a constant presence in my childhood home, thanks to my father’s unhealthy devotion to it.

But Hulk Hogan was the one I watched because of that wild, jacked-up persona, that showmanship he had. That crazy, over-the-top energy that somehow made everything feel critical.

To this day, my daughter and I will square off over absolutely nothing and growl, “LEMME TELL YOU SOMETHIN’, BROTHER!”

I write about pop culture because, yes, it entertains and distracts us, but also because these icons are among so many who literally shaped the soundtracks and cinematic memories of our most formative years.

And now, one by one, they’re disappearing.

We mourn the persona, but we also mourn who we were at the height of their relevance. Our younger selves, sitting cross-legged on shag carpet, cereal or popcorn bowl in hand, in front of our screens, believing our icons would always be there.

That's why it hurts so much when they leave us. It reminds us that time isn't waiting for us, either.

They don’t call us the Forgotten Generation for nothing, after all.
We were taught to self-sooth (and self-parent if you were a latchkey kid) and stay out of the way while having a front-row seat to every cultural collapse from AIDS to Enron.

And now, here we are, burying friends, fighting burnout, and trying not to examine our own mortality too closely.

So we do what we always do: turn the music up and make a joke to deflect.

That’s what this week feels like.
And that’s enough said.

Also, could someone please arrange 24/7 wellness checks for Dick Van Dyke and Dolly? I can’t take another hit right now.

Gen X isn’t okay. And neither are you, probably.
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