In that spirit, Happy Semiquincentennial to America.

Here’s the thing. I didn’t actually forget it was happening. I was just disappointed about the buildup and the way it was celebrated. GenX was around for the 200^th, the Bicentennial. Now, that was a celebration. It was literally all anyone was talking about for the entirety of 1976.

That year came in riding on the back of the then, almost extinct, bald eagle. It was shooting fireworks out of its eyeballs, clenching the stars and stripes in its talons. When the ball dropped on New Year’s Eve, the first thing everyone said was “what are we doing on the 4^th of July? And how are we preparing to celebrate?” Or so I assume. I was six, so no one really asked me.

Well, for starters, we painted all the fire hydrants Red-White-and Blue. I remember being especially excited about this. Why? I cannot tell you.

And there were buttons—so many celebratory buttons. In the 70s everything important got its own button and this was no exception. They were all sizes but the same shape—round with a pin on the back.

At my elementary school, we celebrated with a flag cake the size of a ping pong table. Now, I know we did this during the school year. It was part of an assembly in the lunchroom. So it couldn’t have been on the actual 4^th of July which reinforces the idea that these celebrations were not limited to just the day of. We sang all our favorite patriotic songs: Yankee Doodle, You’re a Grand Old Flag, God Bless America. And then we ate the cake. That’s all I remember. Maybe it was in January, preparing us for the celebrations to come. So, we had time to plan our outfits.

Which, we did. Keep in mind, that back then, you couldn’t hop online to the Jeff Bezos boutique and have flag merchandise sent to you via Prime the next day. It took planning and sometimes sewing. Many girls I knew wore prairie dresses sewn by their mothers, or at the very least, bonnets. Why was this considered patriotic? I have no idea. Though one of the actual celebrations was the Bicentennial Wagon Train Pilgrimage to Pennsylvania, where 50 18th-century-style wagons — one for each state — retraced the steps of early settlers by traveling west to east to do a “replay of history—in reverse”. Along the way, each state’s wagon stopped at festivals and fairs before converging in Valley Forge National Park for a celebration. Now that’s a celebration! Imagine signing up for that as an adult— “hey boss, I need a month off in June because I’m going to drive a wagon from Washington State to Valley Forge for the Bicentennial”...

Sure, no problem at all.

There was a boat parade, too. And a train that went from one end of the country to the other.

Celebratory TV shows were plentiful. Variety shows, which were all the rage back in the day. Celebrities doing skits and singing songs all in celebration of America. Staples like Sammy Davis Jr, and Donny and Marie wore their red white and sparkly blue best as they sang and danced in celebration of our country lasting for 200 years.

But the most memorable of all the bicentennial TV was without a doubt, the Schoolhouse Rock patriotic spinoff series, America Rocks. Schoolhouse rock had already been teaching us parts of speech and numbers, but for the bicentennial, they took on history and government, too.

The series included: No More Kings, Suffering through Suffrage, Elbow Room, The Shot Heard Round the World, Fireworks, The Great American Melting Pot and I’m Just a Bill. And of course, the Preamble. Which is how you can identify any GenXer in the wild. Just walk up to them and say the opening line, and they will immediately start singing it back to you.

The actual 4^th of July was as wholesome as it could be. We decorated our bikes in red, white and blue streamers and rode all over town. We wore those thick yarn ribbons in our hair, or maybe ribbon barrettes we’d woven ourselves. Red, white and blue satin hanging down with beads secured with a thick knot.

After the actual parade. Our town, like many others had celebrations that ended in Fireworks and bomb pops—both the popsicle kind and the sucker kind. And of course, sparklers and snappers and snakes. The sort of fireworks 70s kids lived for. I can still smell them-gun powder and smoke.

It was a grand celebration that made us all so proud of our country.

It was inclusive to all, there was no price of admission, no merch tent—though there were commemorative quarters and you were thrilled if you came across one of those in your weekly allowance or change from the corner store.

We all felt a sense of pride in our country. A sense of togetherness.

Maybe that’s where Semiquincentennial missed the mark for most of us.

Oh, and there should have been more buttons.

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In a lot of ways, on a lot of things, yes.

But one in particular has gotten me riled up today.

Protein.

I’m sure you, too, have been a victim of the protein police.

Have you gotten all your protein today?

Do you know how much protein you’re supposed to be consuming? (This is some equation that looks like the white board from a Beautiful Mind…)

How much protein is in that bar, shake, sandwich, etc?

It is all everyone is talking about-well that and getting your steps in, but that’s another musing topic for another day.

Fast food restaurants are advertising protein power bowls, and they are quite literally a chicken breast or a hamburger in a bowl with some quinoa. And if they aren’t actually offering them on their menu there’s some fitness influencer showing you a hack to order 75 grams of protein or some such nonsense.

And, fine. I guess I can get behind being healthy, but I saw something the other day and the protein people have gone too far.

Protein Kool-Aid.

And if that isn’t bad enough, Protein Doritos.

These staples of GenX culture being used as protein mules?

I think not.

Before we dive into it, let’s first try and remember that growing up, we weren’t as aware of things like carbs or saturated fats or things like that as society is today. There was some sort of dust up about red dye and they took away the red M&M while they got it figured out. But when they did, the red one came back. Though not the light brown one that was not a cause of cancer, but apparently whoever was making M&M color decisions thought it was a good time to do away with it.

A shame, really.

But I digress. As a Doritos purist, I have kept my mouth shut about all the ridiculous flavors they are pushing—and I am starting with Cool Ranch. Come for me if you must, I can take it.

Doritos used to come in two flavors—Taco and Nacho Cheese, which was, is and will always be the superior flavor. Then, in 1986, came Cool Ranch. This almost caused a civil war. People very passionately took sides on this issue. You couldn’t love both, you had to choose. If you showed up at a slumber party at a cool ranch person’s house, you had to suck it up and go hungry if you were a Nacho Cheese lover. They weren’t going to have both.

Nowadays, there are a million flavors, or, well at least ten. Spicy Sweet Chili, Salsa Verde, Golden Sriracha. Even Extra Spicy Nacho-do we think the spice is hotter, or there’s just more of it? And, well, that’s too much division to fight for your favorite flavor. Maybe that was the point. Divide and conquer. But we GenXers still have our battle line drawn, and Protein Doritos are way, way on the outside.

And Kool-Aid? KOOL-AID? The Kool-Aid man was already busting through walls to get at that pitcher of red. Now he’s all hopped up with protein—who knows what destruction he’s about to unleash. You’re not ready for that, Protein Police, but you’ve brought it on yourselves.

Is this aimed directly at GenX? Are we the target age group of this particular marketing ploy? We can’t know for certain, but it sure feels like it. I mean, they aren’t adding protein to Fruit By the Foot for Millennials.

It probably started when they labeled Snickers bars as protein bars and no one blinked an eye. But this? This is too much. If GenX wanted nostalgic protein, we’d mix up a lumpy Carnation Instant Breakfast packet with tap water. Or peel back the plastic wrap on those crackers with the red knife to spread the cheese on with. I bet those were packed with protein.

But I have no idea. Because back then, no one knew how much protein we were supposed to eat. Just that it sat in the middle of the food pyramid and was represented by a bone in ham.

I get it , when you know better you do better. But I for one have had it with all the protein products and nonstop chatter. Most days, it just feels like bullying. And we, GenXers have always known how to deal with a bully.

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Now, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen a piece of our collective history up for sale at a dusty antique mall. In fact, most of the time, vintage shopping is like a scavenger hunt of my childhood. Some things are readily available at almost every place I go.

For example: the Fisher Price Little People Barn. Does it have all the animals? No. Does it have enough pieces of that fence that would never actually stay standing up? Also, no. But it usually does have the red chicken that was supposed to sit on that fence post. Usually the tractor, sometimes the farmer and at least one of the cows or pigs. I always pull the barn door to see if it still makes the cow noise when it opens. Also, I love when there are just random little people pieces included—sir, the mailman did not live or work at the farm. What is this, some sort of rustic Air BnB? Is he on holiday? Please take him back to the village where he belongs.

Clear plastic phones that you can see the wires through. Man, oh man did we all want this phone. And now, when no one has a landline, you can find them everywhere. Do they still light up when they ring? There’s no way to know. Again, because no one has a land line anymore.

Western Barbie. Sometimes with her horse. Sometimes in her white and silver sparkly outfit. Sometimes with her hair cut off with what looks to have been a butter knife. Has anyone ever stopped to wonder why Barbie as a cowgirl, would have worn white? Seems like it would have gotten really dirty out on the ranch.

Those metal glasses we all had to drink out of, which, are probably full of lead. The ones that kept our koolaid so cold that it was like licking a pole in the dead of winter. Oh, and the painted McDonald’s glasses—remember those? The Smurfs or the actual McDonald land characters. Grimace was my favorite, though I think he was everyone’s favorite. Though, not a soul can tell you what he was supposed to be. Those glasses are so readily available that I could set a table for twelve.

Giant plastic earrings and rubber bracelets. Baggies and baggies of those things. Which tracks, because, in the Eighties, we had a pair to match everything we wore.

Lunch boxes—Holly Hobby, Garfield, GI Joe. When I see them, I can picture just who of my classmates had which (I know, I know, my memory is a little freakish). But I also remember that there wasn’t some vast selection of choices. There were probably twelve available at the Ben Franklin, which makes it easier to remember. Perspective, people!

Tupperware, Merlin games, Nancy Drew books, Lincoln logs. You want them? Pull up to any antique store and there they’ll be-yours for the taking.

But some things are harder to find. I keep a list of things I am on the hunt for—things I have never seen or I’d own them again. For nostalgia’s sake.

Husker Du. The greatest board game ever invented.

The Sunshine Family dolls. They were like Barbie’s hippy cousins. Who can forget how you could pop their eyes out and back in to switch the colors—maybe that was just me.

Anything ESPRIT but especially the tote bags. I think I’d die on the spot if I found one of those.

A yellow Walkman. The original one with the headphones on that bendable piece of metal. You thought it was forming to your head. But in fact you were just destroying it.

A clip-on Koala bear. Or panda, I guess. As already Mused about, I loved those things a ridiculous amount.

Printed shoestrings. Why did we love them? Flair, of course. I bet my orthopedic workout tennis shoes would look sweet with some rainbow heart shoestrings…

According to experts—truly there is an expert for everything, and what I’m about to say proves it. As our parent’s generation downsizes and all of our treasures make their way out of those attics and crawl spaces, we’re going to see more and more of our old stuff hit the shelves of the local antique mall.

Turning them, more and more, into museums of our past. And we can return to our glory days of “shop til we drop”.

I for one, cannot wait!

Maybe they’ll add an Orange Julius?

What will you be on the vintage hunt for?

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A particular favorite of mine this week is from Nicole Baart’s “This Stays Here”

Read it, here.

Summer camp.

Some of us went to day camps, some of us sleep over. They were not fancy. They were not themed.

No one was going to Horse Camp, or Dance Camp.

We went to camp, and we did camp things.

Day camps—and these we went to when we were children— were held in church basements, or some sort of lodge. Did that mean they were religious, yes, and no.

Yes in that during the story time there were bible stories told. And during craft time, the craft projects sometimes referenced the Lord.

The biggest and the baddest of those were the God’s eye. A few sticks, and colored yarn was all it took to weave one of those babies. Though, I am inclined to believe that making them had more to do with the supplies being cheap and easy to come by. And the craft itself simple to do than it was to have a symbol of the divine to hang in our rooms at the end of the week. I’m pretty sure I made one of these at Girl Scout Camp day camp, too.

Day camp structure was pretty much the same no matter where you went: Story time, craft time, lunch, outdoor play, snack, songs, the end. We brought our own lunches, and snacks were generally ants on a log or stale popcorn one of the leaders popped the night before and brought in a grocery bag. We dug in with our bare hands. No hand sanitizer to be seen.

In the most GenX thing to ever happen, when I was in fifth grade, our Vacation Bible School class was tasked with painting all the Sunday School Rooms during camp. I cannot remember if we only painted during craft time, but nothing screams religious education more than child labor in the heat of the summer. At least in the 70s. Not that any of us complained. Painting was a valuable life skill.

Now sleepaway camp, that was a real treat.

All the thrills of day camp, but also lake activities! And bonfires! And sleeping in cabins!

At sleepover camp we learned the basics of all water crafting—rowboats, canoes and sometimes paddle boats. We swam in a lake. We fished in a lake. We hiked around a lake. We mailed home pre-addressed postcards that arrived after we got home sayiing how much fun it all was!

All of it barely supervised. We were still allowed to run wild and feral, just under someone else’s watch. And our parent’s paid for this shady amount of supervision. We learned how to build fires, shoot archery, and most importantly play pranks on other cabins. That last one was always billed as a “morale booster”.

The counselors in charge of us were barely older than we were. And they were usually wrapped up in their own drama-either friend drama or, in the case of co-ed camp, romantic drama, to pay much attention to anything going on. Unless you were homesick. Homesick campers got lots of attention.

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And, if you were lucky enough to get to go to a co-ed camp (mine was a church camp but once again, not a ton of talk about the Lord) you also had the grand finale night of camp that included some sort of mixer or dance. And you plotted your dance partners all week long. It helped that you were matched up with a cabin of the opposite sex for activities. Bonfires, and meals and field activities. IE archery or obstacle courses and other “outdoorsy” types of things. Mostly you alternated between being completely mortified by not being able to start a fire, or hit a target and flirting.

Summer camp was glorious, and when it ended, we cried at having to leave these newly formed best friendships and crushes. We produced autograph books to be signed, and we swapped addresses so we could keep in touch. New pen pals that lasted for at least a year after. Sometimes you went back the next year and got to see them again, but more often than not, it was a one and done.

No discussion of summer camp could be complete without touching on camp as a setting for the iconic 80s horror movie, Friday the 13^th (plus the little known but equally creepy Sleepaway Camp). We had a love hate relationship with all slasher films, but this one was more love than hate. Because we’d lived it. We could smell the mildew in those cabin bunks. We shivered at the memory of those cold open showers. We smiled at the thought that we would have made the same bad choices if the cute boy had asked us to go down to the lake for a moonlight swim.

But deep down, we knew, we could have outrun Jason, without falling down. Because we’d done that plenty of times already in our wild, feral summers as children.

Cheers to summer camp. I’d go again in a heartbeat if I could. How about you?

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I’ll be back next week, with what I’m pretty sure will be a discussion of GenX’s experiences with summer camp-day, sleepaway, on TV and movies. All the strangely GenX specific things that made them great-including autograph books.

I hope you all think my Musings are 2good2B4gotten… and you’ll come back!

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Perfect, right?

I mean, we were already overly-romantic, hormonal teenagers. Hopped up on John Hughes movies full of promises that the geeky, unpopular girl would be someone’s crush. And the nonathletic, funny boy would get the girl in the end. Well, if they’d stayed true to the original ending for Pretty in Pink. Seriously, it would have been such a better ending! But I digress…

All that want to fall in love and be loved, and then set it to a soundtrack like that? We didn’t stand a chance.

The soundtracks of those movies alone could cause instant true love. Go on, right now, cue up If You Were Here by the Thomson Twins. Close your eyes. What do you picture? Is it a handsome boy in front of a red car? A giant birthday cake? The feeling that you are being chosen? Which is all any of us really wanted, right?

John Hughes movies had soundtracks that ran underneath every scene, or between every scene. They captured the emotion—or rather caused you to feel all that emotion yourself. Maybe that’s why they all seemed so relatable. The yearning was instant. Like a light switch.

If You Leave playing during the prom scene of Pretty in Pink.

This Woman’s Work during the labor scene of She’s Having a Baby

The instrumental love theme from the Breakfast Cllub when they were pairing off. (RIP to Brian Johnson who wrote an essay instead of falling in love.)

And those are just John Hughes movies.

Almost Paradise during that prom scene in Footloose

Hungry Eyes during the dance tutorials in Dirty Dancing.

Take my Breath Away when Maverick and Charlie are falling in love and riding a motorcycle.

The most romantic moments of our teen years, set to the best music.

But these romantic classics weren’t just limited to movie soundtracks.

You can’t think of 80s love songs without considering the Power Ballad. Which, in my opinion, originated in this decade. Or at the very least was perfected.

There was just something about those hard rocking hairbands baring their souls when they slowed things down—cue the lighter in the air—an actual lighter. It played right into our pre-programmed love for the bad boy. And if you were a boy, I imagine it was way cooler to listen to Beth by Kiss or Carrie by Europe, than the aforementioned Air Supply. (We’ll get back to them in a bit.)

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A power ballad was the perfect slow dance song. The perfect driving at night with the windows down song. They could make you fall in love:

Heaven by Warrant

Heaven in your Eyes, Loverboy

Home Sweet Home, Motley Crue

Alone, Heart

Or help heal your broken heart:

Love Bites, Def Leppard

Sometimes She Cries, Warrant

Never Say Good-bye, Bon Jovi

Every Rose has its Thorn, Poison.

The lyrics alone could get you. “Was it something I said or something I did? Did my words not come out right? Though I tried not to hurt, you. but I guess that’s why they say every rose has it’s thorn. Just like every night has its dawn. Every cowboy sings a sad, sad song. Every rose has its thorn.“

Poetic, is it not? Add in a raging guitar, synthesizer and drums? Men in spandex and more hairspray than us? Solid gold. Probably platinum.

And of course there were the sappy ones—the entire Air Supply catalog. George “Careless Whisper” Michael and Phil “Against All Odds” Collins. Richard “Right Here Waiting” Marx, and Debbie “Lost in your Eyes” Gibson. And of course, the best 80s love song of all time, Heaven by Bryan Adams. I will not be debating that one. It just simply, is.

And I’m betting at least one-third of you had it as your prom theme in 1985.

I’d venture a guess, that if you took all these songs and made yourself a playlist—aka mixtape—rolled your windows down and turned the volume up, you’d fix whatever was broken inside. Or at the very least, you’d have a hankering for some Boone’s Farm and bad decisions.

What was your favorite 80s love song? Your prom theme? Let me know if the comments.

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It has recently come to my attention, brace yourselves here, that in the year 2026, and kids these days were as enamored with a decade like that, they’d be in love with the 90s. Which is sort of happening, I guess. Are kids these days having 90s day at school? Are they wearing slip dresses with a white t-shirt underneath? Cigarette jeans with tiny camisoles. Are the boys wearing waffle weave long sleeve shirts underneath graphic tees? The 90s really was all about layering—and they say the 80s was the decade of excess.

Musers, I’m going to be honest here. I’ve been so deep in my lore/love for the 70s and 80s, that I have given nary a thought to the 90s. Maybe it was because the 90s was the end of college, the beginning of adulthood. The loss of no responsibilities and the beginning of having a 9-5 job and a mortgage and a move to the big city (the 80s teen dream, am I right?). Maybe, just maybe that made me a little less nostalgic for it.

But upon reflection, there was some good stuff happening then.

For starters, the 90s brought us some seriously good television.

It was the birth of must-see-TV on NBC! Friends, Seinfeld, Mad About You among the lineups. They spoke our native language—sarcasm—fluently. They leaned into our core principle-that friendships could be like family. They were less angsty for sure, but there were other shows for that. Namely 90210.

These were 90s teens, but we had a lot in common with them. 90201 was like one long After School Special. Don’t do drugs! Do stand up to bullies! Don’t drink! Do your homework! Don’t have sex! Do wear a helmet on your motorcycle!

And of course, the classic 80s dynamic of the bad boy and the good girl—that was basically the foundation of the entire show. Brandon or Dylan? We all knew we should pick dependable Brandon, but there was just something about Dylan we couldn’t shake. Same with the girls—Donna was the epitome of the good girl, but yet we still rooted for Kelly and Brenda, just a little bit more. And not for nothing, other than the occasional cameo by the Walshes, the parents were never around for any of the drama.

(Unlike our beloved Happy Days, where the Cunninghams, Howard and Marion, were front and center for it all)

Then there was the music. The 90s brought us grunge-Nirvana and Pearl Jam. Some would see the real pinnacle of Rap—Dr. Dre and Snoop Dog and Mary J. Blige. Some 80s icons reinvented themselves—Madonna, of course, but also Janet Jackson and Depeche Mode. The angst continued with the Cranberries and Counting Crows. Honestly, the angst in their haunting vocals may have been better than our power ballads, but don’t tell anyone I said that…

It was, after all, the decade that brought us Mariah Carey.

Movies? It was a real hodge podge of great ones. Pulp Fiction was so good, but also disturbing, but also weird. Forest Gump? Sad but somehow happy at the exact same time. And then there were the Rom-Coms. Gone were the John Hughes teenage love stories and in their place the young professional adult versions—Pretty Woman, You’ve Got Mail, Sleepless in Seattle to name just a few. Meg Ryan and Julia Roberts were falling in love despite themselves every year for a decade.

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention A League of their Own after last week’s analysis of baseball movies. There was no crying in baseball, except there was.

So, yes. Begrudgingly, I say, by GenX standards, the 90s were also pretty great. There was angst, fashion and no adult supervision. Because we were the adults, I guess.

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I’m not sure where my deep love for the sport came from—we were not a baseball family growing up. None of them are particularly fond of the game. I rarely if ever missed a baseball game in high school, but didn’t go to my first professional game until I was married—it was a Cubs game, at Wrigley, doesn’t get much better than that.

But I love everything about it, always have. So much so, that I took a baseball fiction class one summer in college that remains my favorite class –Kinsella gave a lecture on Shoeless Joe—I still have the notes. (A surprise to no one, I am sure. I swear I am not a hoarder. I just keep the important things…)

But that still doesn’t explain where that fundamental love of the sport came from. Maybe, it was the collection of fantastic baseball movies from the Eighties. There was one in every genre—drama, comedy, romance and mystery.

For drama, you had Eight Men Out in 1988. The story of the Chicago Black Sox, who supposedly took money to throw the 1919 World Series. An ensemble cast, with a few familiar Eighties faces—John Cusack and Charlie Sheen among them.. A solid, somewhat heart wrenching tale of acquitted players who were banned from the game they love. It was heavy on the angst which was key for an Eighties film. We loved our angst back in the day. (still do, I am after all, a Cubs fan…)

For comedy, we had Major League in 1989. The story of an owner trying to tank the Cleveland Indians by stacking the roster with head cases and has-beens so he can move the franchise to Miami. Again, an ensemble case, again Charlie Sheen (how many of you forgot this wasn’t his only baseball movie?) It has that whole underdog-fight-against-the-man vibe that we LOVED in the Eighties. And the jokes hold up, for the most part.

Romance? Bull Durham 1988. And not just the love triangle between Kevin Costner, Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon. This is a love story about baseball, and I can prove it. The most iconic speech of the movie sums it up so I don’t have to, though heads up—it’s spicier than I remembered.

Kevin Costner’s answer to Susan Sarandon asks him what he believes in: “Well, I believe in the soul... the cock...the pussy... the small of a woman’s back... the hangin’ curveball... high fiber... good scotch... that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent overrated crap... I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a Constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve, and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days. Goodnight.”

What else needs to be said?

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Mystery? Maybe this will be a stretch for some of you, but if you’re looking for a little baseball mystery, I give you, the Natural from 1984. Was Roy’s bat magical? Who shot him and why? How is he able to perform at such a high level at his age? This movie is one of the most beautifully cinematic baseball movies of all times, which is a bonus. Plus Robert Redford, while to old to be in the Brat Pack, was a pretty compelling hero. This movie also had the distinction of playing nonstop on HBO in its early years, which means most of GenX has seen it at least fifty-seven times.

All of these are fantastic. All of them show the complexity of the sport-the beauty, talent, humor and perseverance it takes to play it.

But for the love of the game? None of them holds a candle to Field of Dreams from 1989.

Am I biased? Probably. From the mind of a literary great, written while he taught at the University of Iowa (my alma mater) and filmed in Iowa? Yes. All of those things are factors. But that movie just really gets to the heart of baseball. How it connects families and communities. Kevin Costner (again, though he isn’t a player in this one.) Is perfectly cast, and don’t get me started about James Earl Jones. That voice! That sly humor. That speech!

Click here to watch it!

How can you not be romantic about baseball?

(I know, I know. Moneyball isn’t a baseball movie from the Eighties, but it’s still pretty great…)

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What was your favorite baseball movie, 80s or otherwise…

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I know I am preaching to the choir when I say, there’s too much technology for things that don’t need technology. It took us thirty minutes to not set a clock-how is that more efficient? Spoiler, it isn’t. Now, imagine that clock was the kind that the tiles flipped over. To change the time, you just spun it around until you had the right time. I don’t have to imagine it, because I lived it.

It was the height of technological improvements then, and it should have just stopped with that everything since is just too complicated.

I remember our first microwave—it had one dial. That was it—not even a clock. No pre-programmed times for cooking specific things. Be honest, the only one of those any of us use is the popcorn one. It was also avocado green, which in my opinion was also better. Remember when the world had color and wasn’t all stainless steel and white? That’s probably another column for another day.

Same with washing machines. You had your hot, and your cold. That was it. No handwash, no pre-soak or steam clean. No sensor on the dryer telling you the clothes were done. You scrubbed the stains yourself, sometimes multiple times. Then you put it in the machine—hot for whites, cold for colors. The end. And I don’t think the dryer had any settings at all. Just dry. Because it was a dryer. No constant beeping to tell you the washer was unbalanced or dryer fluffing so your clothes don’t get wrinkled. If your clothes got wrinkled, you used your iron. Or you tossed in a wet washcloth to create some steam to get those wrinkles out. Necessity is the mother of invention. Which is basically the motto of GenX.

There was a problem. We solved it. (Check out the hook while the DJ revolves it…)

But I digress. All these technology advances, these putting computers into things that don’t need them, just make them unnecessarily complicated. And those are the parts that break more often anyway.

I don’t need a smart fridge that keeps inventory of my groceries and what I have run out of. I need to remember to not leave my list on the counter.

And don’t even get me started about all the technology in cars. A few months ago, I broke down on the freeway. Not because something was actually wrong with the engine, or I’d blown a tire. No, it was because the computer that runs all of the things that make the car work had an error, SO IT SHUT DOWN THE ENGINE! How is this an advancement? No thank you. Give me separate keys for the door and ignition, the brights button on the floor that I tap with my toe, and a window crank any day of the week over that nonsense.

It just seems like everything is more complicated than it needs to be. Which is the opposite of what these advancements were supposed to be doing. Life is not easier when you have to have five streaming services to watch the shows you want to watch.

That’s just more involved cable TV. We’ve already done that once, and back then it was groundbreaking and exciting. This way is just time consuming and confusing.

It’s like technology for the sake of technology, and what’s the point of that?

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So, here we are almost five months in and I am sure you are all wondering how I am doing…

Welp, like any good GenXer, my intentions were very good.

I did a lot of thinking about what sorts of hobbies I was looking for. What interested me and would draw me away from the always-at-my-fingertips screens. What could take the place of the dopamine hit of scrolling on various social media sites.

To start out with, I bought this fantastic little dice game to take the place of my word puzzles. And while I do love it and play it often. It didn’t take the place of my morning NY Times games mostly because I interact with people about our results daily, so I feel like that’s still a win. Human connection is a positive. Same with Words with Friends. I’ve been playing one consecutive game with a high school friend since that game came out in 2009. Another win in my opinion.

Moving on to other sorts of hobbies. Here is where it gets a bit on the sticky side. Not good or bad, just a bit unorthodox. You see, what I’ve come to learn, is my absolute favorite hobby? Researching hobbies, following a bunch of accounts of people who are doing the hobby I want to do—screens, I know…. FAIL.

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I love the next part—the buying all of the supplies for the hobby. Then organizing the supplies which sometimes involves buying storage containers to hold the various supplies. I adore taking all of these supplies out and looking at them.

But doing the actual hobby? This seems to be where I drop the ball.

In retrospect, this has been a pattern of mine for some time.

A list of hobbies—mostly crafting that I have followed this pattern with:

1. Cross Stitch. Most recently the kind that has swear words in it. I have the kids, the fancy scissors, and of course the fancy old timey quilted sewing storage box.

2. Vintage Christmas Assemblage. (who even knew this was a thing?) This basically means I would buy a bunch of vintage holiday things and then hot glue them into something. I loved doing this and probably would not have stopped except that I ran out of people to give them to and places to put them in my house.

3. Bracelet making. Oh.so.many. beads. This began with making friendship bracelets for Taylor Swift and escalated quickly. Mostly because I would see bracelets for sale and think, “I could make that for way cheaper”, and while each bracelet probably was cheaper, the rest of the supplies negated any savings. I have all the beads, and of course the boxes to store and sort them. I have the board to figure out patterns and wrist sizes. And I still do this on occasion, but I’m fairly certain I could make hundreds of bracelets with the materials I already possess.

4. Which brings me to my latest hobby—Junk Journaling. What is junk journaling you may ask? Well, it’s really just the kind of scrapbooking we did in the 80s—perfect right? You know the kind where you cut things out of the paper and used a glue stick to secure them onto the page of your Hallmark scrapbook. Not to be confused with a photo album where you arranged just your photos. No, I’m talking about an honest to goodness scrapbook. The place you saved your concert tickets. Your movie tickets. Where you made cut out pictures of your recent celebrity crush from the pages of Tiger Beat and artfully arranged them before using your scented markers to draw little hearts around the page. That sort of thing.

It truly was the perfect hobby for my rededication to crafting. I bought the perfect notebook, the fancy paper and markers, and the pencil box to hold the fancy markers and pens. The special glue and scissors. I bought the stickers—the thrill of buying stickers for something with an actual purpose. I even bought a tiny little photo printer so I could print the pictures off my phone if I wanted to go that route. Luckily, I had a box I could reuse from some long-discarded hobby to store all of it. I couldn’t wait to get started.

My first spread (that’s what junk journalers call the pages) was for my birthday! I cut out the cards, wrote a note to myself, glued the background paper down, arranged the things at artful angles. Added some flourishes with my markers and stickers. It was beautiful.

And then I never did another one.

For no reason that I can discern. I had so much fun doing it. I have saved all sorts of bits and bobbles to keep going, but alas, I have not.

Is it possibly, Musers, that my favorite hobby, is collecting supplies for hobbies that I fail to pursue?

How very innovative of me…

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First and foremost, we all had our own bed. And not just a bed—a comfortable bed with ultra soft sheets and cooling blankets—because menopause. These beds were nicer than most hotels I’ve stayed in. Back in the 80s, you slept in a scratchy sleeping bag that was either a too small Strawberry Shortcake that you’d had since you were nine. (my sister had one that looked like a frog and you entered it through the mouth. I thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen in my life.) Or your dad’s real camping sleeping bag that was made to keep you warm in subzero weather. And you slept on the floor, and while the shag carpeting of the time gave you a little bit of cushion, it wasn’t much. Only one person slept on the couch, and it was usually the host.

We went to bed at a reasonable hour, and no one got their hand put in a bowl of warm water for doing so. Generally, we all started yawning around 10pm and all of us were relieved when someone announced they were ready to hit the hay, and we all jumped up in complete agreement that it was time. No one felt the need to stay up to see the sunrise, or even midnight. Not only was there no bowl of warm water, there was no Vaseline on the toilet seat (Musers—these were the fanciest toilets I’ve ever seen—heated seats and bidet’s!) no writing on the first asleep’s face in magic marker, no pranks what so ever.

When morning came, there was zero sugar cereal or powdered sugar donuts, both staples of am 80s sleepover. Most of the time they were those small variety packs of cereal that claimed you could use the box as a bowl. And someone always got stuck with plain corn flakes and had to claim that they actually liked them. Instead, we got the most delicious coffee and homemade egg casserole and cinnamon rolls that most certainly could be served on your first day in heaven.

We drank good wine, not Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill. Not Slo Gin and seven up—the Slo Gin Fizz. We didn’t have to sneak alcohol from our parent’s liquor cabinet and replace it with water. We didn’t have to share one four pack of Seagram’s wild berry wine coolers. None of us had to ride around with that one creepy guy who was old enough to buy liquor, but made you take at least two laps on the loop before he’d stop and get you what you wanted… Nope, we just went to the wine fridge and helped ourselves.

And while there was no “light as a feather stiff as a board”. No Ouija Board, no trying to conjure up Bloody Mary, we did tell some publishing horror stories that were almost as scary. Sadly, we didn’t make any prank calls, but I think that is an art form lost to Caller ID. (Do we even still call it that?) I don’t know anyone who picks up the phone for an unknown number anymore and where’s the thrill in leaving a voicemail for someone to ask if their refrigerator is running?

All this to say, the adult version of the slumber party has all the upgrades I never knew I needed. And while generally speaking, I think we did most things better in the 80s, this was not the case. So, if you’re feeling disconnected or old, or just looking to spend time with women who are important to you, I highly recommend the adult version of a slumber party.

Pranks optional.

What do you remember from the slumber parties of your youth?

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Digital cameras-of course they can just upload the photos and print them out. Skipping entirely the step where you had to wait for development to see if any of them were any good. And not just digital cameras Polaroids remain popular, though they don’t seem quite as concerned as we were about the development process. Polaroids in the 80s were delicate things that you only held on the edges, and either set carefully on a flat surface and waited, or if you were feeling aggressive, blew on to speed up the process. Or, I seem to remember there was a period where you had to peel the top layer off to expose the picture—or am I confusing that with something else?

Scrapbooking—I’ve heard this called paper art, which made me laugh. I was making “spreads” back before they had fancy paper and pens or archival glue. I used old wrapping paper, scented markers and Elmers. Or actually, I rolled tape into those little circles and used that. Or those little tiny adhesive corners you had to lick and somehow also get to stick at the exact corners of your photos to hold them in place?

CDs and vinyl. These are things to collect now. Which, I guess they were for us, too. Though we didn’t know we were collecting them as much as just buying the music we liked. I recently saw a (targeted) ad that you could order a custom a mixtape or CD for that special someone. Let me tell you that was a gut punch. Our generational love language being used to make someone a profit? This seems like heresy. Like the worst thing capitalism can do. I know it’s not, but still. It makes me want to get some old blank tapes off eBay and offer the service for free. I bet I can find a dual recording boom box, too. No charge if you were born from 1965-1980.

They’re buying DVDs. Cancelling streaming services because it’s overly expensive and complicated. Listen, GenX gets that. We were around for the invention of cable TV. We went from four channels to forty, then a hundred. And yet we still watched the same sitcom reruns and movies on repeat because we couldn’t find anything to watch. Streaming now is like cable was back then, except you’re paying for every channel. Many a night have thrown up the white flag when trying to stream something—by the time I figure out which service, if I subscribe, what my user name is—if I’d known my email address was going to be the thing I used to sign into everything for all of eternity I would have chosen something much, much shorter—twenty-six letters and symbols on a remote is beyond ridiculous? Then figure out my password? No thanks, I’ll watch the weather channel.

Those are the things that are making a comeback. And while I have you here, let me suggest a few others that would greatly improve our quality of life here in the 2020s.

TV shows that have a new episode every week for nine months and then take the summer off. This was the way-appointment TV we called it. And a summer vacation? Perfection.

Pen Pals—nothing better than popping a letter in the mail and knowing you wouldn’t be expected to respond for almost a month. Still a human connection but a stark contrast to today’s expectation that you must respond to every text and email you get immediately.

Roller Skating—a night skating in circles under the lights with nothing but good music playing would heal me. Hell, I think it might heal the world.

Radio stations with actual DJs

After School Specials—so many life lessons learned while eating a Little Debbie or two.

School House Rock—is it just me or do we need a few refreshers?

MTV with actual videos playing—I feel like I read that MTV went off the air recently—which is sad, except it hadn’t been real MTV for a long, long time.

There are somethings I think are better left in the past—paper maps and skinny jeans are at the top of my list. Oh, and this new war in the gulf—been there, done that. Apparently didn’t learn the lesson.

But this slight turn away from instant gratification and screen time? I give it two thumbs up and a scratch and sniff sticker.

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I was recently having a discussion with a fellow GenX friend about how annoying we find that video is slowly becoming the new default when it comes to information. We both agreed it wastes our time.

Why?

Because I can read faster than your video plays. What takes you three minutes to explain in even a “short form” video—IE Reel or TikTok I can read in one. And just punch me in the face with a Socker Bopper if the video is some sort of instructions or recipe with no written transcript. I have zero patience for pausing and rewinding through all the steps.

Just put it in writing. I’m begging you.

Why is this?

Is it a GenX thing? Me thinks so.

I can’t say we are the only ones, but I can say it is the preference of most GenXers I know, and I have a theory!

Growing up, videos (known back then as TV or movies) were for entertainment purposes. Learning was done through reading and writing.

Think about it. If your history teacher rolled in a movie projector to show you a documentary about World War II, you considered it a free day. Even if you were learning about World War II.

(Very niche memory, but who recalls watching the Holocaust documentary where they kept making the announcement: “Please stay together. You will be kept together on your trip and in the family camp.” And being traumatized by it because you knew it was a lie---because we read the Diary of Anne Frank.)

If you were actually having a lesson on WWII, it was from a textbook, there were bullet points on the chalkboard. You took notes, and then later took a test or wrote a paper on it. I still share a firm belief that the cotton gin was the life changing technology of its time. Because I read about it in my textbook.

Or, say you walked into English class and there was a TV on a cart primed and ready for you to watch West Side Story to do an analytical comparison to Romeo and Juliet, which you’d read. Sure, I could sing the songs from WSS, but if you want to dive deep into a story of two families at war brought together because of young love, I can quote Shakespearean examples.

Film Strips sort of bridged the gap, I suppose. Who can forget being the lucky kid who got to flip the knob to bring up the next image when the teacher instructed you to do so. Film strips were generally words or single images. Slow images to consume.

Meanwhile, we were out here doing the Reading Olympics learning to read as fast as we possibly could to earn that gold medal.

The Reading Olympics was hands down my favorite month of the year. It meant you got to go to the library as many times as you wanted—not just during your weekly visit. It meant there was an entire portion of your day you got to spend free reading instead of having to learn about fractions or division or some other math-ish thing no one cared about—maybe that last part was specific just to me…

Also, who invented the Reading Olympics? Was it a nationwide program? Did we all do it the same month, like the Presidential Physical Fitness test, but for our brains? Did we send those reading logs to some governing body? I remember it took some period of time after completion to get our certificates and medals—all presented at an assembly in the lunchroom. These are the questions of adult me, younger me cared nothing about the parameters, only about getting that gold medal.

Reading there was technically for pleasure, I guess. Though, I’m fairly certain I could still regurgitate the plot of Superfudge, the Mouse and the Motorcycle or any other book logged on my Reading Olympics sheet. Because I read the book, not watched the movie.

I was a fast reader, still am, but I’m not a skimmer. Which is why if you send me a video expecting me to retain the information I’ll get maybe half of it. Because, the reading Olympics trained me and I can read faster than I can watch and most of my brain is going to be thinking about that instead of paying attention to the video details.

Stop wasting my time. (Shaking my fist like an old man protecting his lawn.)

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No, no I do not.

Not to mention that every day there’s some new story of how terrible this all is for our brains and our environment, oh and not to mention AI gets it wrong so often that the word intelligence maybe should be taken out of its name…

The robots of our youth were friendly and helpful. Cute even!

They didn’t steal people’s creative work of make their jobs obsolete. I don’t care for these new robots, and you can quote me on that.

Maybe you’ve seen the meme complaining that we were promised flying cars and a robot maid named Rosie who seemed to be on top of everything. Oh, and the Foodatackacycle that made all the decisions about meals for you. (I KNOW I speak for every woman alive when I say that this is the technology we really want—never having to put a thought into what’s for dinner again? That is the real dream) These robots solved everyday problems and were part of the family to boot.

Obviously, this is all Jetson’s lore. The future based cartoon set the standard of expectation for what technology was supposed to be like in the future. And while we aren’t there yet, there’s hope we can be—The Jetson’s was set in 2062 so there’s still time.

Like Vicki—the robot from Small Wonders—technically it was V.I.C.I –voice input child indenticant. She was part of the family. The entire point of that show was for Vicki to “grow up”. To become more human. And hilarious and heart warming 80s sitcom style hijinks ensued. She didn’t start hallucinating an evil plan to overthrow humanity. Though she did malfunction every once and again.

And what about K.I.T.T.? The Knight Industry’s Two Thousand. He was AI-and he used those powers to fight crime and keep Michael safe. He was relentless in his quest for justice! And, he was a Pontiac Firebird Trans Am—so he was cool to boot. I mean, a T-Top sunroof? Nothing was cooler than that in the 80s. I bet he had a big comb tucked into his backseat, too.

Of course there are the robots from Star Wars. C3PO and R2D2. They stole all our hearts with their bickering and loyalty to Luke. One is a fussy, nervous interpreter, the other a mischievous but brave mechanic (listen, I know this is a simplification and I’m not looking to be schooled by any Star Wars loyalists. My Star Wars memories include going to the original movie with my grandma who was mad she had to be there in the first place and even madder that the theater was packed and we couldn’t all sit together. And using the action figures as aliens in my Fisher Price Little People Main Street. Don’t come for me, please.) My point is, they are another example of good robots.

How about our robot toys? Alphie was the original toy robot. From Playskool (Does it bother anyone else that the company charged with almost every educational toy we had as children was spelled so incorrectly? Just me? Ok, that’s cool…or should I say kool?) Alphie could teach us math and reading and music with his cards. Was he an actual robot? Probably not, but we didn’t care. He looked like one and he had lights and sounds like one. Good enough in our book.

The game Simon is probably as close to an evil robot as could be found in the 70s and 80s. The way he sped up was enough to make all of us crazy and anxious, our hands poised on those giant buttons ready to follow his lead.

Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots? Ok, not real robots in any sense of the word, but it was still a thrill when you got the head to pop off your opponent. Maybe that’s how we should be handling all this AI nonsense now. I don’t condone violence, but what if all this AI functionality that’s being shoved down our throats could be neutralized if you could get its tiny robot head to pop off? With a direct jab to its robot shaped chin…

Just a thought.

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Hell, maybe from any movie.

Admit it, as soon as you read it you could picture a shirtless Matt Dillon in that hospital bed pointing that knife. His emotions spilling out directly into the heart of every pre-teen girl. That scene is so embedded in my psyche that when Dillon’s character in Beautiful Girls (10/10 GenX feeling movie btw) was also hospitalized I missed all his actual dialogue waiting for him to say this iconic line.)

But I digress. I was lucky enough to go see the touring company of The Outsiders musical recently and it has sent me down the rabbit hole. I re-read the book (a gorgeous 50^th anniversary commemorative edition, though I am lucky enough to still own my original movie tie in copy from 1983, I wore that thing OUT but yet it remains intact.) and I rewatched the original movie (not the Complete Novel version, which I have heard is the book, line for line.) and while this could truly just be a love fest for both, there are a few things I’d like to put out there for discussion.

This is where GenX angst was born and that is a hill I will die on. The book we were all assigned to read in Junior High, told the story of orphan boys from the wrong side of the tracks banding together with their pals to create a community that takes care of one another. Hello? You didn’t have to grow up in Oklahoma in the Fifties to relate to that. It is still hard to believe a sixteen-year-old girl wrote this iconic novel. (Side note, they had to use Susie Hinton’s initials to sell it, no publisher thought a girl could write this story.) There wasn’t a scene she got wrong-her descriptions of the visit to the country, and the rumble and the way the characters related to each other? Well, I guess it takes a teenager to relate to a teenager.

And then there’s the movie. Watching it again, that familiar clawing feeling of sorrow re-emerged smack dab in my chest when Cherry told Pony not to take it personally if she didn’t talk to him at school. And it practically exploded when poor Johnny cried that sixteen years just wasn’t enough time. Those poor, poor Greasers. They didn’t stand a chance.

Coppola’s original intent was to film the book, line by line. And listen, I’m not here to throw shade on this classic, but there are times when it seems like the cast was just allowed to read the book and then ad-lib the lines as close as they could remember. In fact, most of this movie seems like Coppola was very hands off. Like he said, “you seem like a bunch of good kids, go ahead and act however you want. Say whatever you want, as long as you get pretty close. Oh, and if Patrick Swayze and Matt Dillon could take their shirts off a bunch, that would be fantastic.

My absolute favorite scene where the ad libbing seems glaringly obvious is when the two random kids try and borrow money from Dally at the hamburger place, and he gets thrown off track in his dialog. That little girl keeps interrupting and asking, “hey, hey mister…” Eventually Matt Dillon just plows ahead with his dialogue leaving her standing there confused as to what to do next before she just wanders off.

The exception to this seems to be the notes to Ralph Macchio. Those must have been a constant stream of “put your hands in your pockets and hang your head down”. Going to the movies? Hands in your pockets. About to murder a Soc? Head down. Running to jump on a train? Head down. At one point when they are walking to the Drive-Inn, he struggles to get those hands in those pockets, missing several times, but his head is still hanging down so no need to cut action and re-shoot I guess.

Obviously, the focus of both the book and the movie are Dallas, Johnny and Ponyboy with the rest of the Curtis brothers as the main supporting cast. We feel for Daryl-he could have been a Soc! If his parents hadn’t died and he’d been forced to raise his brothers. He played football! Poor Dally! We were all in love with air-headed Sodapop, the prettiest greaser of them all. He couldn’t make sense of all those words in school so he dropped out, but he can pump your gas if he can find his (ironed!) jeans!

But can we have a minute for the other Greasers? Emilio Estevez in his Mickey Mouse shirt seemingly the most levelheaded of the bunch. Tom Cruise as Steve whose only spotlight moment comes when he does a backflip off the front porch on the way to the rumble. That and the fact that he had the cap removed from his tooth for the movie to look tougher. It’s funny that Tom Cruise, of all the people cast in this movie, became the biggest “movie star”. Back then I don’t think anyone I knew was cutting his “Steve” picture out of Tiger Beat magazine and taping it on their bedroom wall.

Then, there’s the only girl in the story. Cherry Valance was an icon. In a time when heroines were sometimes bubble-headed and their only motivation and character trait was wanting a boyfriend, she not only stood up to hers, but to Dallas, too. She had her own angst, but worry over being single never crossed her mind.

Imagine a world where Cherry Valance sits down with Sam from Sixteen Candles…she’d most certainly set her straight about pining after Jake.

The Outsiders was both a book and a movie made for our generation. As we’ve mused here before, it was the first of the Bratpack movies. The first ensemble cast of these boys who, by all accounts, still get along as men. All of them have talked about the bond they felt making it that remains today-what could be more GenX than that?

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PS. The musical was fantastic, too. I wondered just how they’d do it justice. Would it be a throwback to West Side Story? Where would the songs fit in? It more than delivers on the angst, my only disappointment was that they didn’t use Stevie Wonder’s original song, “Stay Gold” anywhere in the show. Back in the day, I had to record that banger straight from the TV for my mixtape…

For GenXers, our Olympic memories are fraught with patriotism, drama and resilience. For starters, the Olympics used to actually be every four years-Winter and Summer games were in the same year—up until 1992. Which means, like everything else, we had to be patient for them to come back around. None of this microdosing patriotism every two years like we do now.

Secondly, because of the Cold War, we hated the Russians. You don’t spend ten minutes every few months hiding under your desk with a book over your head to prep for nuclear war to turn around and cheer for the ice skater from Russia.

Which is why, the USA over Russia hockey game was and still is such a big deal. Now, to my memory, that was the gold medal game, but history will tell you, I am wrong. (Shocker—I KNOW!) That game was actually to advance to the Gold Medal game (which we won-USA! USA!).

The thing you have to understand about this game is that it was before the term viral was coined but yet, everyone was watching it. And I mean everyone. In general, the Olympics were must see TV, but the draw of the USA going head-to-head with our mortal enemy was overwhelming. Even those of us who had never seen a hockey game were glued to the screen. Not because we understood the sport, but we understood the patriotism. We were the under-dog, smaller, but scrappier. When they won, we all won. We chanted USA in our basement rec-room.

The gold medal game was mandatory-we all loved hockey now. I watched it at a potluck in my church basement. Someone had brought in their (I’m guessing) 25 inch black and white TV, and because it was also before cable, we could get the game on a local channel. For the most part, though someone had to keep adjusting the antennae and there may have been tinfoil involved to “increase the signal strength”. When we won that game, I saw grown men cry-which was new in the 80s.

I’m sure something equally as exciting happened in the Summer Games of 1980, but I don’t remember it. Same as I don’t remember the Winter Games of 1984. My next clear memory of the Olympics is tiny Mary Lou Retton wining the first women’s all-around gold medal in gymnastics. The come from behind drama! The perfect tens on the floor exercise and the vault. Her recently defected coach sweeping her up in a bear hug when she won. Personally, I didn’t really know what it meant to defect—no matter how many times Bob Costas explained it during the coverage, but I did know that he had been a Russian coach and now he was American! And his tiny little powerhouse WON!

Another victory for the underdog!

And a huge win for teenage girl’s everywhere. The popularity of the 1985 Olympic gymnastics meet brought us one of the greatest movies of the era.

American Anthem.

That’s right—Mitch Gaylord—excellent gymnast, terrible actor. Janet Jones—terrible gymnast fairly good actor falling in love and battling their demons to make the US team. Oh the drama, the music, (Take it Easy!) the montages! It was like Footloose and All the Right Moves but with national pride and flips!

The next few years brought us minor drama: Greg Louganis smacking his head on the diving board. The Dream Team winning the Gold on the basketball court (Minus bugs bunny, somehow…) The battle of the Brians (Boitano and Orser) on the ice rink. But nothing like what was to come…

Flash forward and the next memorable GenX Olympic moment, was not our proudest. It wasn’t us defeating the big scary Russians. Unfortunately, this was American on American crime. 1994 Winter Olympics. Figure Skating.

That’s right—Nancy Kerrigan and Tanya Harding.

What a scandal this was! Now technically the attack didn’t happen at the Olympics, but rather the National Championships. But that didn’t keep them from hashing and re-hashing it on the broadcast. Poor Nancy, just wanted to skate, but they would NOT let it go and in the end the pressure was just too much, and she had to settle for the Silver.

I imagine most of you have forgotten that joining her on that podium that year and winning the bronze was American Debi Thomas. I remember it because she skated to George Michael’s “One More Try” during the medalist exhibition event, in a number that she choreographed seemingly as she was skating it. It was full of flourishes and random disconnected jumps and was reminiscent to all little girls of the era of sliding in our socks and pretending to be Olympic Ice Skaters all those years ago in our basements.

Somehow becoming for GenX the most relatable Olympic moment then and since.

Or at least to me.

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It is GIRL SCOUT COOKIE time!

Let me preface this by saying I have a bit of a sordid past with the Girl Scouts of America, having been asked to resign my membership in the Spring of 1979. You see, the Girl Scout Room in my hometown was located above the town bakery. And, well, our weekly snack, provided by our leader was a stale box of Cheese Tidbits which put me at cross purposes most weeks.

Did I fight off the delicious smells coming from the bakery and use my dime for its intended purpose of weekly dues and endure the cardboard favored cheese provided for the troop?

Or did I give in to my cravings, buy a donut and pretend to have forgotten my dues at home?

Musers, I’ll answer that question by saying I was asked to leave because my account was in arrears.

But back to the matter at hand!

Back when I sold Girl Scout cookies, we went door to door. Whoever rang the bell first got to make the sale—we didn’t take turns, we raced. There were prizes to be won. Well, patches for sure and maybe a stuffed animal or coordinating sticker. But no one wanted an empty sash, so the patch was usually motivation enough.

There was no parental supervision-you grabbed a couple friends and off you went. No one set up a card table at the grocery store to help you. We didn’t take credit cards. Cash or check and that was that.

Not that the job was hard, I mean the product pretty much sold itself. It still does-making them only available once a year would do that for almost any tasty treat. But I’d be remiss and shirking my duty as nostalgia specialist in chief if I did lament the cookies that were retired before their time.

The one that little broke open a hole in my brain was the Sesame Crisp Crackers. That’s right CRACKERS! I had completely forgotten these existed but now I wonder if this is where my love of sesame seeds came from? They were thin and crisp and delicious!

The crisp wasn’t the only salty snack-there were also tiny triangle cheddar crackers called Golden Yangles. Which led me to wonder, who at the Girl Scouts of America were naming these things?

Tre-Foils which were just shortbread cookies shaped like the Girl Scout symbol. Which I guess is technically a trefoil because it has three sides? My mind seems to remember there being three parts to the Girl Scout Pledge? All I remember is the end “live by the girl scout law” which was punctuated by some song.

Maybe? I honestly don’t know why these details escape me. I guess I was always more of a Pink Lady Pledge than a Girl Scout Pledge sort a girl.

“The Pink ladies pledge to act cool, to look cool and to be cool, til death do us part. Think PINK!”

Also a Tre-foil, I’d like to point out.

But back to discontinued cookies!

Van-Chos: essentially these were Oreos that came in vanilla and chocolate but came in one package. Delicious.

The Scot-Teas which were like a fancy version of the Tre-Foil, but better because they had that crunchy sugar topping.

Cabana Creams which were just lemon sandwich cookies, but the name made them sound exotic. At least to us.

The Forget me nots, which didn’t come close to living up to their name. So much so that the Girl Scouts reintroduced them as Granola cookies a few years later and no one seemed to notice.

Then there were the dark years of the 1990s when EVERYTHING was diet and Girl Scouts joined the trend and introduced not one, but three cookies that were either sugar free, fat free or low calorie… none of which survived.

Reduced-fat Chalet cookies which were sandwich style-one vanilla the other lemon. A reduced fat lemon cooler covered in powdered sugar. And then there was a fat free apple snap, which, gross. How’d that even make it out of the meeting?

OH, that’s right, in the ‘90s diet culture dominated everything-even little girl’s cookie sales… like I said, dark days.

But let’s not let that overshadow the truly great cookies that are no longer with us:

The less creatively named Chocolate Chunk and Pecan Shortees.

The “Striped Chocolate Chip Pecan” …the creative team must have taken some time off from names to work on flavors.

The chocolate coated Juliette’s with her caramel and pecan filling. (Someone at the girl scout bakery really loved the pecan.)

The Kookaburras-oh yes. The crown jewel of the discontinued cookie-essentially a Kit Kat bar that featured wafers layered with caramel and coated in milk chocolate.

You remember that one, don’t you? And aren’t you furious it’s gone? Or is that just me? The one who got kicked out for spending her dues on a donut?

Let me suggest to any big wig Girl Scout executives (Leaders?) out there. Next year you should do a run of retired cookies ONLY. The hunger for nostalgia is almost as big as the hunger for your cookies…just a thought from one of your former members who possess little financial responsibility or will power around sweets-or nostalgia.

PS my kids would be furious if I didn’t remember their discontinued favorite:

Now, my sister doesn’t love nostalgia and the 80s like I do. (In fact, she would lovingly say that she doesn’t think that anyone does. But then again, she isn’t as online as I am, so she isn’t aware how many GenX fanatics are out here.) Needless to say, I thought she’d take a gander at it, a short stroll down memory lane, and then relinquish its treasures to me.

Musers, this was not the case.

Apparently, she is a bit more nostalgic than she lets on. Which made my heart grow three sizes, just like the Grinch—she DOES love the 80s after all! Maybe not quite as much as me, but in her own way and that is good enough.

Here’s the thing. As much as I loved the 80s, and my 70s childhood, I also LOVE tiny things. This may be one of those chicken or the egg situations—do I love tiny things because they were such a part of my growing up or were such a part of my growing up because I loved them. We may never know.

But what I do know, is that one look at that coveted shadow box and my memory sprang open like a Charley-in-the-box. And I don’t say that lightly, seldom do I happen upon things from that era that are a surprise to me.

But it was a welcome change of pace, because it brought me so much joy.

Tiny joys.

And it reminded me of another joy of my childhood-collecting things. GenX LOVED collecting things. Baseball cards, Garbage Pail Kids cards, wind up toys. Friendship pins, Avon perfume pins, pencil toppers and tiny erasers, match box cars, buttons (the ones with sassy sayings or band logos, not the ones you fasten your shirt with, though I imagine people collected those, too.) I knew someone who collected barbie shoes! The list really does go on and on.

Glass figurines. The kind you could win at the fair or buy at the mall.

PomPom animals you could both make and buy.

Care Bears

Weebles

Fisher Price Little People.

Pewter unicorns.

Sometimes you collected things according to theme-Unicorns, Teddy, Bears, Snoopy. Music boxes (this was me-but they weren’t tiny)

Sometimes you collected things according to the material they were made out of—metal, wood, plastic, ceramic.

Sometimes your collection had no rhyme nor reason. And this is what set off my tiny joy meter..why couldn’t on go on a treasure hunt to find any and all tiny collectible things that I loved so very much?

Suddenly, I was searching for Hallmark (Honestly, if collecting things is a GenX pyramid scheme, Hallmark is probably at the top of the pyramid) Holiday Merry Miniatures-thrilled to see the ones I had owned. The Christmas kangaroo. The Valentine’s Koala. The bunny doing aerobics. The Peace, Love and Joy snow men.

Those may not be as memorable to you as to me, but if you were GenX there’s no way you have forgotten the clip-on stuffed animals that were all the rage—the koala! (I have to ask myself why Koala bears were such a big part of our formative years.) The panda, the unicorn. We clipped them on our backpacks and our collars. They were part toy, part collectible, part fashion accessory.

We should bring those back.

Part of our collecting of small things, I have to think, was they were affordable. You could go to the local Coach House or Spencer gifts with $10 and walk away with a few stickers, a new plastic Smurf—my personal favorite remains the Smurf swimming with an innertube around his waist. and some rainbow shoestrings. And still have enough money for a box of Karmel Korn or an Orange Julius.

Those were the days.

And you could keep your tiny collection in almost anything-because it was so small! A pencil box, or pouch, a shoe box. Or if you were my sister, proudly displayed in a coveted shadow box on the wall.

I hope this post brought you some tiny joy. And inspired you to search out your own.

What GenX collectible have I forgotten? Tell me in the comments.

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May I interest you in a few?

Top of the list has to be latch hook rug kits. Man-oh-man did I love those things! We had a little hobby/craft store in my small town (shout out to the Red Door Hobby Shop) and they always had a nice selection. Since it was the seventies, I of course chose unicorns or rainbows. There was something hypnotic about wrapping that piece of yarn around the little hook and pushing then pulling it through the canvas squares. My Sunday school class also did one of a cross and each of us did twenty-five rows and then passed it on to the next. Someone framed it and it hung in the church parlor for years.

Also sold at the Red Door Hobby shop? Stained glass kits. Except they used plastic not glass. You sprinkled the colored plastic pellets into the metal forms, popped them in the oven waited for them to melt then hung them on your window with a suction cup! Crafting and home décor all in one!

Sea Monkeys. Are these a hobby or a pet? I say why do you have to choose. They can be both. First the setting up of the “aquarium”. That is a pure craft project. Getting the water temperature right, placing any plastic plants or tiny sunken ships in it-craft. Keeping those tiny buggers alive once they hatch? Pets. Starting over because you forgot to feed them or they just randomly all died one day? Back to a craft project.

Who remembers magic rocks? (Not to be confused with pet rocks that were also a hobby for 70s kids, though everyone I knew just picked up a random rock off the ground and named it. No one spent good money on a rock. But I digress…) Magic Rocks were something that also grew in an aquarium that was very similar in design to the one used for Sea Monkeys. You scattered the tiny magic rocks in the empty aquarium. Added the scuba diver (usually it came with a scuba diver) then poured in the “magic solution” and waited. And waited. Seemingly nothing happened, then BAM overnight you had these beautiful crystal stalagmites that would continue to grow if you kept adding magic solution. But if you were happy with the size of the crystals, you could replace it with water and it would last, well, forever, the box claimed. Musers, I know zero people who still have their 1970s Magic Rocks, but you never know!

Looking for more physical hobbies? Might I suggest the Lemon Twist-an ankle skipper device that you affixed to one ankle and somehow managed to twirl around and jump over at the same which seems actually impossible at my age. Probably the same physics as a hula hoop, which is a road map for throwing out my lower back at this point. Or maybe you could give the Romper Stompers a go? Those seem way more doable here at the Midsection of life. Standing on heavy duty solo cups while holding onto handles? That I can handle.

Looking for an indoor hobby that also involves exercise? Let me introduce you to the slinky, and the non-stop fun of letting it walk down the stairs at a snail’s pace. Where’s the exercise in that, you ask? Well, it’s when you race back up the stairs to do it again!

Hungry from all that stair running? Why not bake something in your EZ Bake Oven! It should only take an hour or so, but when it’s done, you’ll have a tasteless chocolate cake that is probably as much of a science experiment as your Magic Rocks. (which you shouldn’t eat, even though they look very much like rock candy…)

The possibilities really are endless. So, revisit those childhood crafts and hobbies, what have you got to lose, except the short attention span that we’ve all inflicted on ourselves in the past few years. This is the way friends, this is the way.

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All of this got me to thinking about how we learned right from wrong, as a generation. Who were our teachers, our lesson preachers? (aside from our actual teachers and parents, or course). And aside from the ones we’ve already mused about: Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers, School House Rock. Mr. and Mrs. Brady, and of course Alice. After School Specials. All of those shows were foundational in forming our moral compass.

Teaching us to be honest, compassionate and open minded. To take care of others, watch out for our friends and neighbors.

Respect, that was a big one, too.

Woodsy Owl taught us how important it was to take care of our environment. I say “give a hoot don’t pollute” as I tuck a gum wrapper in my car garbage bag.

Who can forget the crying Native American Man as he watched the garbage float down the river. None of us wanted to be the reason he cried. We all wanted to Keep America Beautiful.

Smoky the Bear taught us to be careful around campfires. When he pointed that paw and said “Only you can prevent forest fires,” I genuinely thought he was talking to me.

“Help take a bite out of crime,” McGruff the Crime dog told us—though he didn’t mean to actually take on the role of law enforcement. He wanted us to lock our doors, and not talk to strangers. He was the origin story for if you see something say something. He promoted neighborhood watch, taking care of your neighbors by checking in on them. He promoted community.

School House Rock covered here before but seems especially poignant in the moment. Especially “The Melting Pot”. I’ll share the lyrics, but frankly, I think everyone of us should go back and watch it. Remember what it was the promise of this country was supposed to be. To remember, we are greater together than we could ever be when we look at other humans as “less”.

“My grandmother came from Russia
A satchel on her knee
My grandfather had his father’s cap
He brought from Italy
They’d heard about a country
Where life might them win
They paid the fare to America
And there they melted in

Lovely Lady Liberty with her book of recipes
And the finest one she’s got
Is the great American melting pot
The great American melting pot

America was founded by the English
But also by the Spanish, Dutch, and French
The principle still sticks
Our heritage is mixed
So any kid can be the president

You simply melt right in
It doesn’t matter what your skin
It doesn’t matter where you’re from
Or your religion, you jump right in
To the great American melting pot
The great American melting pot
Ooh, what a stew, red, white, and blue

America was the New World
And Europe was the Old
America was the land of hope
Or so the legend told
On steamboats by the millions
In search of honest pay
Those 19th-century immigrants sailed
To reach the USA

Lovely Lady Liberty
With her book of recipes
And the finest one she’s got
Is the great American melting pot
The great American melting pot
What good ingredients
Liberty and immigrants

They brought the country’s customs
Their language and their ways
They filled the factories, tilled the soil
Helped build the USA
Go on and ask your grandma
Hear what she has to tell
How great to be an American
And something else as well

Lovely Lady Liberty
With her book of recipes
And the finest one she’s got
Is the great American melting pot
The great American melting pot

The great American melting pot
The great American melting pot”

I’ll try and be funny next week.

Until then, If you like me are having a hard time recognizing a country you love, I’ll leave you with something Mr. Rogers said,

”Love isn’t a state of perfect caring. It is an active noun like struggle.”

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