the time capsule
I’m sitting here trying to figure out why I’m still awake at 3am. I’m not watching TV, I gave up on reading, and I couldn’t muster the energy to work on anything important, so what the hell am I doing in my chair in front of my laptop in the wee hours of the morning?
Oh yeah, I’m debating the merits of 80s music with my son. And we’re doing this over Facebook, because nothing of significance happens unless it happens on Facebook, right?
I keep telling him I lived the 80s, the decade just before the internet. The bygone era where shoulder pads weren’t just for linebackers and gloves didn’t come with fingers (and some of those were only worn on one hand). A time when people wore their sunglasses at night while cruising the streets in sleek sports cars, blasting the Miami Vice soundtrack into the air. Oh sure, it was fun the first time, but that doesn’t mean I want to dredge it up again, thereby triggering memories best left buried in the dusty old time capsule with the bones of REO Speedwagon and the Thompson Twins.
And leg warmers. By the way, thanks for the tweet early this morning reminding me about leg warmers. I can almost smell the sweat from the aerobics classes. No thank you, I’ll gladly leave the 80s music where it was…happily hidden in my bottom dresser drawer, under the Purple Rain VHS tape, with all the other embarrassing mementos of my youth.
Now if you ask me about the movies from the 80s, we’ll be getting into a completely different sort of debate. And I’ll leave that for another time.
Until the next time…I’ll be purging the Duran Duran earworm with a Brady Bunch marathon.