Riding on the T yesterday, encased underground in a subway car somewhere between Park Street and Kenmore Square, I noticed a young man slouched in his seat wearing an OK Boomer t-shirt. (I almost inserted "(oxymoron?)" after "young man slouched" in the previous sentence, but that would be such a condescending, anti-Gen Z and Boomerish thing to do; so I didn't.) This sight prompted my fuddy-duddy brain to recall something I read about the OK Boomer internet meme; voila, I soon found the article in the oh-so-woke New York Times and wove it into a lesson for my communication students. And now I'm either a cool, hip professor or pathetic for trying too hard.

So, according to Wikipedia: as of December 2019, videos tagged with #OkBoomer on TikTok had been viewed nearly two billion times. That's probably closer to one person watching video two billion times than to two billion people watching video once, but the upshot is that OK Boomer -- a dismissive remark zinged at Baby Boomers who express outdated, narrow-minded viewpoints regarding issues such as income equality, climate change and transgender rights -- has spread widely among hyper-connected youth. That is to say, youth. 

​Some people are laughing the whole thing off; others are appalled, offended! The novelist Francine Prost says the phrase signals a pop-culture embrace of discrimination against older folks. She's right, of course, but that's not what I want to focus on here. 

This is my beef. Non-boomers, maybe you're right about most of this stuff -- certainly we Boomers have left you a terrible mess with climate change -- but you can't just toss off a flip, dismissive remark and walk away. That's rude and ineffective. No, stand your ground. Say Not Okay Boomer and make your argument. Make it over and over again if necessary. Be articulate, be persuasive. Have the fortitude and courage to engage. Then listen to your elders even if it kills you. Give ground occasionally. Work for solidarity and common understanding. Why, you ask, should we bother? Because you need us, like it or not. Especially with attacking climate change -- time is running out and it'll be far too late by the time all the Boomers die or stop voting, whichever comes first. 

But please, don't retreat into your insular TikTok world to sulk and spew disdain at the people in power, at the ones with the money. That's not going to work. That's entitled, that's lazy and that's almost worthy of the retort designed to malign younger generations: snowflake. I've heard some in Generation Z claim that they're just too tired and stressed out, too exhausted to bother explaining their views after previous rejections. Well, sorry. That's life. You gotta get up and try again. Do it better this time. Maybe you'll actually shift a mind or two. If you don't, well, you fought the good fight. Then go have a beer. Or avocado toast. Or a yoga session -- whatever.  

When one of the snidest and most destructive Boomers in our country, Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin, recently told teenage activist Greta Thunberg to take a college class in economics before daring to speak about climate change again, she didn't flip back with OK Boomer. She stood proudly on stage and in her tremulous voice spoke the truth -- to Boomers, Gen Z, Gen X, Silents, the Greatest Generation and Millenials.

To everyone, and with conviction.     

Recently I stopped into a Burger King -- not your typical move for a vegetarian who didn't love fast food even in his carnivore days. But I'd heard good things about BK's Impossible Burger, a plant-based burger imposter, from this construction-worker guy in their TV commercial. Wow, tastes like the real thing, the actor exclaimed. I'd also recently devoured Jonathan Safran Foer's meditation on climate change, We are the Weather, which powerfully illuminates the massive role of animal agriculture. Chew on this tidbit: if cows were a country, they'd be third behind the U.S. and China in greenhouse gas emissions. So, can faux-meat products possibly save the day? And what the heck do they taste like?

​In search of answers, and to "have it your way" at BK, I walked west on Commonwealth Avenue to the scrummy yet charming Brighton neighborhood of Boston. That the joint's sign appeared to be held together by giant bungee cords was not a reassuring start to the culinary adventure. 

The inside of the "restaurant" was haphazardly clean and painfully well-lit. I ponied up $5.99 for the Impossible Whopper and nobody rolled their eyes, silently accusing me of un-American Activities or a lack of manliness. (Life Alive, an excellent vegetarian place on the Boston University stretch of Commonwealth Avenue, serves mostly women -- 85 percent gals, according to my unscientific assessments. Dudes squat next door at Chipotle.) Then I sat at a counter, looking out at a parking lot and chain-link fence. Opened the bag, pulled out my prize. Unwrapped that. Used a napkin to scrape off the mayo-sludge, ragged onions and war-surplus lettuce. Dug in. 

Meh, it was okay -- no worse than my recollection of the meat-based Whopper. I mean, it seemed like a fast-food burger. Tasted like one, even looked like one. Semi-mealy mouth-feel, check. Dank taste, check. Heftiness in hand, check. Like I said, meh. So, not much of a test, was it? I suppose I should bring in a meat-eating friend and have her compare the dead-animal and plant-based Whoppers, rather than trying to conjure up distant memories of meat in my vegetarian-rewired brain. 

By the way, six bucks? That's a lot for an unsightly heap of bread and brown stuff, so I was glad to hear that Burger King has lowered the price of the Impossible Whopper. And sorry to hear that the reason was poor sales. Now the Imp-Whop is part of BK's legendary two-for-six-bucks menu, whatever that entails. Next time I gotta buy two? Please, no.

Nonetheless, plant-based burger scientists, keep on trying! The nation of Cow is one of the prime drivers of climate change, whether we care to admit it or not. ​