I turned 68 today. I was born one year after the end of World War Two, and I have lived not just in two different centuries, but two different millennia. And, from my point of view, I’ve lived in several different worlds:
The peaceful, almost painfully naive suburban world of the 1950s, memorialized on flickering black and white tubes by Life With Father, Leave It To Beaver, and The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriett. During those years my mom was at home, I walked back and forth from grade school twice a day so I could eat lunch at home, and I had a job delivering the morning paper through heat, rain, and snow on my Huffy bike. I ate a lot of McDonald’s burgers and fries when they still cooked everything in genuine lard.
The tumultous upheaveals of the 1960s, when I, on the bleeding edge of the Boomer wave, discovered sex, drugs, rock-n-roll, politics, and revolution. Naturally, even though I attended one of the best high schools in the US, I was so stupid I thought I was discovering them for the first time. Vietnam played a role.
The vacuous 1970s. The less said about them, the better. I don’t remember much of the first half of that decade.
The onset of the personal computer, simultaneous with the onset of my writing career in the 1980s. Those were the Reagan years, when the tattered remnants of my discredited leftism crystallized into libertarian conservatism. The Soviet Union collapsed, but the Iranian Islamists did not.
In the Year 1999 ended the next decade, when some of us thought we were all gonna die because of two little numbers in a gazillion date entries in computers all over the globe.
The miserable first decade of the 21st Millennium – unpunished Muslim terror attacks, endless low-grade conflicts in fucked-up Muslim shitholes (but never the right fucked up Muslim shitholes), George W. Bush, the man who never rose to the job, and then Barack Obama, the man who was never qualified at all for the job and has, in fact, been trying to destroy it.
And now today. I’m a coot, a codger, a geezer, an old retired white guy (the demon du jour of a million hysterical progtard wishful wet dreams). I’ve been blogging for going on fourteen years now, and I’ve managed to restart a writing career that began with a portable Underwood typewriter, carbon paper, typing paper, and correct-type, and now proceeds via tiny computers, voice recognition systems, email, and instant publishing both digital and on-demand.
It’s been a wild ride. I’ve been very lucky to have had many of you along with me over the last decade-plus. I’m hoping – and working hard to try to ensure – that this is just the very first part of a much, much longer journey.
And now, I’m going to take the rest of the day off and enjoy my birthday. (Right after my regularly scheduled weight-lifting session, of course).