So the boomers grew up, if the sweeping generalization can be believed, with this weird sense of entitlement but also barely submerged anger toward their parents. Determined to correct every wrong—they are the only generation that matters, right?—once the boomers began having kids, they were determined to produce in their children the same sense of entitlement coupled with all the love and understanding they could lavish upon their perfect little angels. And Daisy's baby, born in 1983—the year the play was first produced—is the recipient of all that.
Today, Daisy's baby would be 18—if he or she survived public school, designer drugs, extreme sports, Jackass, crystal meth, shitty third-generation punk, white-trash rap, 'NSync, Nintendo, MTV and all those other wonderful accoutrements of teenage life at the turn of the century. Just keep your eyes and ears peeled for the clues the next time a teen goes apeshit with a gun at school—the kid who was bullied or harassed, who watched too much TV or played too many video games, or who was too fat or too slow or too ugly. This is the boomers' worst nightmare come to life. No matter how wonderful their intentions or how benevolent their dreams, some kids—like some people, like some dogs, like some apples—are just fucked-up and can't be reached. And that may be the future the boomers are dying to grant to their offspring—except that it has always been here, in full Technicolor glory.
Excuse me while I get stoned for the next 20 years.
Baby With the Bathwater at Theatre Whereabouts, 112 E. Amerige Ave., Fullerton, (714) 871-1517. Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 6:30 p.m. Through May 6. $9.75-$13.50.