Sunday, March 26, 2006

Nyquil musings

During childhood, everyone witnesses a generation fading away along with its cultural moment. We don't know it at the time, of course. We regard older people-- here I'm thinking of teenagers-- as a static class with unchanging hairstyles, unchanging preferences in recreational drugs, unchanging facial hair configurations.

My generation's earliest memories are of the 1970s' final gasp as it graded into the 1980s. To a tiny kid, teenagers were the menacing guys working on their Trans Ams in the driveway, smoking pot, drinking Olympia, listening to Sabbath, and throwing dirt clods at you. We would all become them someday, we believed and feared. And they looked like Adam Morrison. So I felt a primal twinge of satisfaction watching him weep at midcourt the other day. Take that, teenager.