I just processed the paperwork for a co-worker born in 1990.
The notice at the grocery store register yesterday said that you had to have been born on or before this date in 1985 to purchase alcohol.
I graduated high school in 1985.
Same here. Our phone numbers were like 678-1234. In town, all you had to dial was 8-1234.
And the prefixes were from some fruit name. For instance, the aforementioned “678-1234” was originally listed as ORange 81234.
Ft. Walton Beach, our closest city, used the Cherry prefix. Thus numbers there were CHx-1234. It was a bigger city, and the third digit could either be a 2, 3 or 4.
ORange was always followed by an 8; Niceville was smallllll then.
I absolutely hated it when we had to start dialing the prefix. Wonder when we’ll have to dial in the area code, next.
Last week, there was a few of us collegues going out and having a beer, and had a midnight conversation was about music.
One of the young, really nice and rather “hip” salesmen, was very in to contemporary music, and I said something like: “Oh, ok, you have alot of records then?”
He looked at me strangely, and said: “Uhm… no?”
I looked at him strangely, and said, in a Seinfelt kind of way: “How many CDs do you own?”
He said: “I don’t know, eight or twelve.”
I said: “How many songs do you have on your hard drive?”
“Six thousand.”
And today, just for starting a short conversation I guess, he said when I was about to pass him by: “Bought any good records lately?”
I stopped there, where he and a few others of the younger folks work, 'cause its nice to chat away a few minutes with’em, and said: “No, not really, I never bought very many records, I’ve never been in to the contemporary stuff…”
“What do do you listen to, then?”
“Well, you know, Leonard Cohen --”
“He’s cool. How many records have he done?”
“I don’t know, ten–twelve”, I said.
And the young man’s reaction was like I would have said: “I don’t know, a few hundred.” – “Do you have them?” he said.
Surprised by this reaction, I said, “Yes, but that’s not too many, Bob Dylan has released about thirty, I guess. I got’em too.”
He steared at me in the greatest disbelief, like he could not comprehend the amount of records I was talking about.
Anyhow, I got the feeling that the record might be a thing of the past, and all the adventures one had in the youth of finding and exploring records passed by like it was a thing of the past, and yes, I felt old.
I guess noticing that the capstones were off most of the Trilithons since the last time I was in Sarum.
Where does the time go?
Tris
I taught elementary in Compton, CA, which to say the least is not the home of the intellectual elite.
I learned not to ask things like, “Now, did the Indians have cars at this time when they met the Spanish?” No one was teaching these kids anything. And in some cases, I mean literally, almost nothing.
I remember in 8th grade history class (this was 1980-81, so yeah, I’m old too), a kid wanted to do his report on “Civil War airplanes.”
Me too! Reunion time!
You don’t have to be that old objectively before things conspire to make you feel bad. I had a girlfriend at university who used to call me “old man.” I was 23, she was 19. I was at least 3 years older than everyone in the dorm my first semester at school and I constantly felt like I was 20 years older than that. I was two years older than the dorm monitor.
I teach at a high school. If that doesn’t make you feel old, nothing will. Even worse though, I used to teach at elementary and middle schools in the area when I first came here. At the beginning of last year, I met one of my former elementary school students. This year, about 2 or 3 students in just about every class remember me from one of my school visits. I remember them when they were bratty little 10 and 11 year olds trying to stick their fingers in my buttcrack or throw erasers at each other when my back was turned. If I’d gotten an early start, I’d have kids their age.
The numbers are like 226-1234.
We only had to dial 6-1234.
In consideration for your advanced age and obvious declining mental faculties, I will gently point out that I said this in post #135. 
I got one when I was 17. I thought it was weird at the time, but that mix up’s going to save me some anguish when I’m really old enough to get one! 
My wife recently got her first invitation to join when she turned 50. I’m still 49, so I like to tell whoever will listen that even though I’m still in my 40’s, I’m married to a woman in her 50’s.
God, she must love me.
What, you don’t have to dial the area code? Ontario has eight (soon to be nine) area codes, and there are only two left (705 and 807) where you don’t have to dial the area code as part of the phone number. And I figure it’s only a matter of time for 705.
Speaking of feeling old…
My father is 80. In the past few weeks we have been dealing with the fact that he can no longer live on his own. He is in the hospital after a fall, and will leave the hospital only to go to a nursing home. 
My sister and aunt and I have been going through his stuff in preparation for the move. I found in the bottom of a box a ‘converter’. This is what we called cable boxes back in the seventies and eighties. It was analogue and converted the lower sixty or so analogue cable channels to channel three or four so that they could be piped to the TV.
That wasn’t what made me feel old, though… it’s that I remember what an improvement the predecessor to that converter had been over six or seven fuzzy channels received over the air. The predecessor had had a row of 12 buttons to select a channel, and a three-way switch to select which twelve channels you could pick from. Yep. 36 channels. Luxury.
What? Rap is considered oldies anywhere? What came after it?
I have sketchbooks that are ten years older than the Gulf War.
Not to be a total downer, but my 20th high school reunion was supposed to be last September. Oh, did I mention I went to high school in New Orleans? Yeah… not sure when that’s going to be rescheduled. :dubious:
Who’s Mama Cass? :eek:
I went down to the music store, and the man there said the music wouldn’t play.
Actually, when I do, the have never even heard of the people I want to buy songs by.
John Fayhe? No, is he a pop singer?
Leo Kotke? Nope, we don’t have anything in the catalog, either. Sorry.
Tris
A year and a half ago, I ate a small pecan, got a bit of shell, and it broke one of my mid-molar teeth, cracked it right off. It really threw me into a panic, happened over a holiday weekend, so had to wait for dental help. It was the moment I thought, “Damn, this body ages, and your teeth start cracking into smithereens and start falling out, and, Oh, Shit…” I really flipped out over it, even called the emergency room, they just said “Call your dentist”. No big deal.
So, it really wasn’t so much, the tooth was rebuilt, sans the ol metal fillings, better than ever. But, it really struck the fear of body deterioration in me at the time: since my twenties, I’ve had recurring dreams of my teeth falling out, one at a time, and it’s a death spiral after that in the dream.
Anyone else have that particular aging phobia?
And the other thing: I have a Sony cordless phone bought 16 years ago, a big hunky thang, top of the line at the time, but about 5 times bigger than any current phone. It still works great, so have never needed another. It’s survived a lot of dropping abuse, solid works.
Younger people just gawk at it like it’s a dinosaur, and turn their heads from it’s bulky, uncool form, with bent antennae. Prolly reads like a 40’s dial up phone to their minds…"Still works, though! Why don’t you get me a new one this Christmas? "sez Cranky ol Aunt El…