Igot a letter in the mail last week from a high school friend who just got married. Oldies stations now regularly play songs from the 70s, when I was born. There are 12-year-olds in the world who have never seen Star Wars.

But until this year, I could take solace in the fact that I was still part of America's youngest generation. I could understand every new twist and turn of popular culture. I was a member of the generation that was the hippest, the baddest, the most in touch.

That is, until this summer. That's when I met Beavis and his friend, Butthead.

It's ironic that the first sign of a new post-twentysomething generation would come from MTV, the television giant of, by and for the twentysomething generation.

MTV, for those who have spent the past decade on Mars, zaps music videos to millions of homes around the nation via the magic of cable. It popularized the three-minute music clip, making visual presentation more important than music in the selling of a record.

And its veejays--the young, bold and beautiful personalities who introduce the videos--are almost entirely twentysomethings. When I interviewed MTV political reporter Tabitha Soren last spring, I discovered that she is a soul-mate and, of course, a twentysomething.

That's why "Beavis and Butthead," the MTV cartoon hit, breaks the mold. It's a straightforward appeal to a completely different audience. Twentysomethings, with a few immature exceptions, just don't get it.

"Beavis and Butthead" is unusual because it parodies MTV, and satirizes the network's viewers. The two lead characters are crudely drawn figures, not slick, pretty veejays. They are early-pubescent morons, not post-pubescent rock icons.

For much of their show, Beavis and Butthead are themselves MTV viewers. They mindlessly watch videos, and they snicker. Like this: "ehehehehehehe." Or sometimes like this: "hehehehehe." Occassionally, one or the other will say that the video "sucks." Sometimes, they'll throw in a vaguely misogynistic comment about a woman appearing in the video. Other times, they'll do something terribly cruel to an animal.

All this is, at least to me, not the least bit funny. It's sick. Beavis and Butthead are sad characters.

But just watch eight-year-olds, 12-year-olds, even 16-year-olds watch this show. And realize that this age group perceives the world very differently than we, their older brothers and sisters.

This new generation thinks Beavis and Butthead are hysterical. They laugh, and loudly at each snicker, each "sucks," each bigoted comment.

Meet the Beavis Generation.

American culture has come full circle. In the 1950s, kids everywhere could relate to The Beav, chuckling at his silly exploits with Wally and Eddie Haskell. Now, there's a Beav for the 90s, who tortures poodles.

My younger brother Peter, 16, is an elder statesman of the Beavis Generation. He does a reasonably good impression of the Beavis and Butthead snicker, and uses various Beavis and Butthead comments.

"I still think it's funny," says Peter, recounting great Beavis and Butthead episodes. He particularly likes the animal cruelty (the time they played baseball using frogs instead of balls, the myriad things they do to grasshoppers).

Of course, as a member of the Beavis Generation, Peter isn't dumb and his mind isn't numbed. Like most other American children his age, he's just a cynic. So are most of his classmates at the local high school. About half of local high schoolers religiously follow the show, Peter says.

Peter knows the show is a sad commentary on the state of today's teenager. But the Beavis Generation is beyond expressing sentiment. It's powerless to do anything but laugh at itself.

"It's still funny," Peter says. "You can't be that profound about anything as realistic as Beavis and Butthead."

To the Beavis Generation's way of thinking, my friends and I are hopeless saps. We twentysomethings, overindulged products of the late 60s and early 70s (when the birth rate sagged) are far too weighted down by the powerful and populous Baby Boomer Generation.

Twentysomethings have ideals (though they're wearing fast), while members of the Beavis Generation have rejected ideals as impractical. Twentysomethings worry about the deficit and the economy, while Beavites just accept that the country is headed down the toilet.

Some twentysomethings, Beavis Generationers mutter under their breath, listen to--and enjoy--their parents' music. The Beav of the 90s would never give Mommy or Daddy the satisfaction.

"Beavis and Butthead" isn't going to usher civilization back to a new Dark Age, and it isn't going to corrupt the young. The young are corrupted already, and they know it.

But sociologists, astrologists, politicians--in fact, anyone with an interest in the future of American society--only needs to turn on MTV, watch "Beavis and Butthead" and understand what the next century will be like.

The founding principle appears to be nihilism. Rampant disregard for other living things is in (for example, hitting frogs with a baseball bat). Taking responsibility for your actions is out.

It is worth noting here that boys seem to react more positively to Beavis and Butthead than girls. According to a reporter who covered the Little League World Series last month, "at least 70 percent" of the 56 American 12-year-old males who played in the series called "Beavis and Butthead" their favorite cartoon.

Part of the reason for this appeal to young males seems to be the show's sexism. "I like the shirt," Butthead says in one recent episode as he eyes a video with a busty young woman. "I like what's under the shirt," says Beavis. Then he snickers.

Obviously, this kind of comment, set up as a punch line in a television show, is symptomatic of a society that objectifies women. That's sad. But "Beavis and Butthead" is sadder.

It's proof that there is a whole new generation out there that completely understands all of this society's foibles. And can only laugh at them.

Joe Mathews '95, age 20, likes to watch "The Simpsons," "Nightline" and "American Gladiators."