Still, No Flying Cars

(C’mon, Universe. I’m running out of time.)

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Aging.

Like Churchill’s alleged quip about democracy, “It’s the worst possible option, except for all the others.”

The official Unites States of America is now roughly two-and-a-half centuries old. I’m officially sixty. That means I’ve been around for about a quarter of our nation’s entire lifetime, and I’ve yet to hear Hillary tell the truth. And in my time, I’ve seen and heard lots of weird things come and go. (Not Hillary, of course — she refuses to go). The year I was born, we had just 48 States, three TV channels, one website (it was called the Defense Department), and zero Elvis impersonators. Today, of course, we have 57 States, all visited by Barack Obama.

Yes, things come and go. A good example is this expression, one which you just don’t hear anymore: “Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.” Older members of greater generations might wrap up a conversation with, “Well, I reckon we’ll see you Sunday, Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.” In those days. apparently, water was much more temperamental.

You know you’re getting old when you have to scroll down seven or eight times to find your birth year in an online dropdown list. Heck, not only am I so old that I have to scroll in the dropdown lists, I’m so old that I remember when we didn’t have dropdown lists.

I’m so old…

I remember the day NASA landed on Arizona.
I remember when ask wasn’t a noun.
I remember when we used to roll down the car windows, roll up to the drive-in, and spread apart the rabbit ears. I also remember the relationship between antennas and aluminum foil.
When I was seven, the Beatles had the #1 song on the Billboard Hot 100. Also, numbers 2, 3, 4, and 5. This was a musical feat which hasn’t happened since a group of Gregorian monks released their best-selling Fourteenth Century album, Very Short Songs for Hep Cats Who’ve Taken a Vow of Silence.
I remember when McDonald’s bought rib meat, then took out the ribs, then stamped the poor thing to look like it had ribs again. McNasty.
I remember when M*A*S*H units weren’t funny, and when Saturday Night Live was.
I remember when people just ran around wildly eating peanuts without supervision, emotional trauma, or emergency room visits.
I had a boy doll. He was a military man named Joe. In spite of those warning signs, I did not end up needing sensitivity therapy.
I remember a time when Peter Fonda was relevant. I never remember a time when Jane Fonda was relevant. I’m not that old.
I remember when TV husband and wife, Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore, slept in separate beds, but managed to have a son anyway. That’s a trick even Vatsyayana’s editors didn’t include in the Kama Sutra.
I know what Yasgur’s Farm is.
I remember when “bad” didn’t mean “good,” “down” didn’t mean “agree,” and “commandment” didn’t mean “suggestion.”
I know what the “b-side” of a “record” means. I also remember the relationship between music and 33, 45, and 78.
I remember when you’d go to the dentist, and after the exam and floss lecture, the nice lady assistant would give you a bag of molar-molesting sugar candy. This is known as a self-fulfilling prophesy.
If you had a problem with a mouse, you didn’t call a Geek Squad, you called an exterminator.
I remember when “gay” described Fred Flintstone’s weekend.
There were gun all over my childhood, and I never made plans to shoot multiple people. Okay, plans maybe.
I remember when Republicans were actually conservative.
When I was a kid, I remember my Mom answering my questions with Look it up! This happened approximately twelve million times. She might be the last human I ever met who never in their entire life said Google it.
I remember when I could run fifteen miles, before breakfast. These days, I can’t even run a temperature.
I watched the first television show that included the sound of a toilet flushing. It did not really affect my life either way.
I remember being on sports team that lost. I did not require a trophy, or emotional therapy.
One mind-blowing year, my parents took us to a neighbor’s house because they had something called “color television.”
I remember when there were only two genders. And we stuck with them.
Saturday mornings used to be a smorgasbord of animated violence, particularly risky for house cats named Tom and coyotes named Wile E. Despite such exposure, I did not suffer a stunted lifetime filled with psychic scars.
I used to play outside after changing out of my school clothes.
I remember when the word maul meant “to seriously screw something or someone up.” But these days, the word mall means … um … actually, never mind.
Not only do I remember eight-track tapes; I also remember the relationship between eight-tracks and “shims” made from folded-up matchbook covers.
I remember when you couldn’t die from riding your bike without a helmet.
I recall a time when virtually all adults old enough to eat with a fork knew that virtually didn’t mean literally.
I remember when everybody on TV or in the movies smoked. Smoking cigarettes was cool. You’d probably die, but you’d be cool.