I always thought the idea of nostalgia was reserved only for my friends on the other side of fifty; those with graying hair, who can claim that something happened twenty or thirty years ago without batting an eye. For me, twenty-three years out of the womb, I’m beginning to liken myself to an aging hippy (cue my father), with all this constant reminiscence about the “good old days,” and the way things use to be. I guess I’m getting old.
