A conversation at work last Friday:
“Of course I can’t write down what he really said. I guess I could fill the report with, you know, ‘expletive deleted’…”
“What does that mean?”
“You know, EXPLETIVE DELETED. Like in the Nixon tapes.”
“What?”
“Rosemary Woods? the eighteen and a half minute gap?”
“I’m sorry, is that a movie?”
Sigh. The first time that happened was a couple of years ago, when I made a reference to the speed our dial-up connection, and compared it glumly to a Telex. There was a good five seconds of silence before someone cleared their throat and asked “What’s a Telex?”
Then there was the first time I found myself more excited about going into Staples than I was about going into a music store. Or the first time I read an entire list of top selling music and didn’t recognize a single name or song.
Anybody else feeling the ominous breeze of Time’s Winged Chariot?
Boy do I know that feeling. I’m starting to feel older than dirt. I still have those little yellow punhed out pieces of paper in my hair.