The present certainly has its discontents. As my veneer of magnanimity and tolerance wears molecule-thin, even I must concede that it is too mean, ugly, and noisy for endurance. It’s cheap in terms of quality and expensive with regard to cost. Shrinkflation irritates me so much, I should see a shrink—though he would probably be short with me. A 45-minute hour is the new economy-sized session. Think of the time and money you’ll save as you spend more for less!
Both sides in the quadrennial electoral struggle have a beef with the present day, and both have a vision for the future that is oddly reminiscent of a vision of the past. In each instance, they seem to have mistaken their rear-view mirror for a crystal ball.
One side has blurry memories of martinis and highballs slugged down while wearing white sport coats at exclusive country clubs where Robert Young was chosen Father of the Year. God Himself held a cabinet position and it was all just so gracious and lovely.
The other side yearns vaguely for the days when those who were denied membership to those clubs began to be seen as human beings in their own right. The nostalgia is for the dimly-remembered struggle of Happy Warriors breaking down the barricades and cutting through the barbed wire preventing access to those sacred places by the insufficiently pale and male and wealthy. They keep going on about something called â€
