Last night my son Jett and two of his roommates were discussing wall-poster decorations in their just-moved-into flophouse — a seedy second-floor apartment with five bedrooms, a kitchen and a bathroom that’s only a couple of blocks from the Syracuse University campus. Jett wanted to put up a poster featuring James Dean and Bob Dylan, and one of the roommates — a very bright 20 year-old who’s (a) gay, (b) African-American and (c) a Republican — said no way. The point is that the guy had never heard of Dean or Dylan. I’m putting it as plainly as I can. The guy had never heard of either one. That’s dedication.