As you might have guessed by my URL, I was born in the Year of our Lord 1967. It was a fine year. Vietnam ended, sort of, but, I digress.
Despite my name, the year 1967 was not a popular year for the name Jennifer. But, lord-have-mercy, by the time I was 15, there were dozens of little Jennifers on my school bus. One Gen Xer named Jennifer even organized an art exhibit focused on the work of 11 Gen-X artists named Jennifer, Jen 11.
It’s a little strange when you meet someone with the same name as yours. There’s this weird connection you have to this other person who is called the same thing as you. I always have a hard time saying their name…The exhibition was born from both a serious curiosity and a simple novelty. Have members of this Jen-eration unknowingly grown into a common artistic sensibility? Have they become creators of culture in their own particular way?”
Well, according to an article written by a New York Examiner, Jennifer along with other Generation X names are totally passé. It was bound to happen. Jennifer has joined the ranks of Myrtle, Bertha and Clyde.
When you were little, what do you wish your parents had named you?
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