Back To The Future
I’ve always been one of those people who falls into the trap of thinking that the past was better than the present and certainly more desirable than the future. I can point to a hundred things that were better a mere decade ago than they are now – rap music, comedy movies, football…this list could make up the entire blog. Nostalgia has a way of gripping its mirage-like hooks in me and dragging me to the point of tears. If I hear an old song I am transported directly back in time. If I taste good food I can imagine the first place I had it as if I were there. If I smell the combination of cigarettes, chopped garlic, and red wine you might as well consider me comatose because I am no longer in the present. I’m not sure if everyone is like this. Maybe for most people they hear an old song and fleetingly think about the moment they first heard it. It’s something that passes like wind. Not for me. That feeling sits on my chest like an elephant. The phenomena of passing through time via memory and senses is something I think about often.
But what’s worse than nostalgia is longing for a time and place that I’ve never actually experienced. If you’ve ever seen the movie Midnight in Paris then just imagine I am Owen Wilson. The main character wishes he lived in Paris in the 1920’s and is transported back at 12 o’clock midnight to converse with his literary heroes like Hemingway and Fitzgerald. Part of me thinks this is a natural consequence of someone who reads a lot. You are constantly diving into other settings and times and characters and the only place the words can go is into your head. Your head does the rest. It imagines all the beauty and wonder the written words are meant to conjure and next thing you know you are actually in Paris during the 1920’s from the comfort of your own toilet.
Because of this potent mix of nostalgia and reading I find myself thinking often about what other time periods and places I would have rather lived in than this current one. It’s a thought experiment I run daily based on moods. If I feel like I want to live in the 1950’s I play a little Sinatra when I get home from work, put on a fedora, and beg the wife to allow me just one cigarette. If I’m feeling extra Cuban on any particular day I come home and put on my favorite record of all time (Buena Vista Social Club) and make some tostones for the family. These moods happen no less than three times a week.
So far there have only been two life incidents that have halted this way of thinking in its tracks and that is the birth of my two daughters. Besides the obvious – in any other time and any other place I do not meet my wife and do not have our two girls – I can’t shake the thought of my wife giving birth in any other time period. When people today talk about privilege I would assume they are talking about this. The fact that giving birth is no longer an immediate death sentence because of the advent of new technology and medicine is a real miracle and the only privilege anyone should ever talk about. Then take into account that a measly three hundred years ago 50% of ALL children in the world died before the age of five and you take the word privilege to new heights. If I was born in any other time I’d probably be wifeless, with only one of my two children, starving in the woods somewhere, and looking at my surviving daughter as if she were a meal. Instead, I have a healthy wife, healthy children, and I’m writing this post on a laptop in a heated room (albeit with an underprivileged amount of sleep). And still, I have the audacity to imagine another time and place “better” than this one.
So what I’m going to do with the rest of this blog is take myself back to three time/place combos I often dream about living in and weigh the pros/cons. Then I’m going to re-read this post any time I have nostalgic ideations so that I can always remember that the now is pretty fucking good.
19th Century Russia
Pros:
This is a weird one, I know. But if you’ve read enough Dostoevsky and Tolstoy you must admit there is something insanely romantic about Czarist Russia. The kings, the queens, the princesses, the dachas, the royalty, the architecture, the snow…the drinking. Every time I dip my toe into one of these novels I wake up a month later (they are very long) with a beard the size of my head and a vodka drinking problem. I try and read one of these tombs every winter and they inspire me to stay off my phone, to walk in the cold, to imagine a place with no lights except stars and fireplaces and candles and then I wish I had some serfs to do all my work for me (just wait for the cons).
It wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies for the gentry in 19th Century Russia but if I were lucky enough to be born into a high family and I could drink and piss away my family’s inheritance only to someday settle down in a mansion, father a family of ten, and spend my remaining days drunk on vodka – well hey, can’t a guy dream?
Cons:
Since I’ve been running on fumes while thinking about this blog and any sleep is coming in the form of 1-to-2-hour naps, last night I had a weird nightmare about Russia. It didn’t help that as I rocked my crying baby asleep at 2:30 AM I decided to keep myself up with some light television – the Alexei Navalny documentary on HBO. I’m not cut out for that type of martyrdom. If I was arrested and saw my wife and two girls crying in the stands at my trial I’d surely break down and tell the authorities what they wanted in the hopes of seeing my family again. And if you think modern Russia is any better than 19th Century Russia on the whole freedom of speech thing than you are sadly mistaken. So as much as living on a massive plot of land hunting, fishing, and drinking all day sounds great, if it comes at the expense of being able to say what I want to say without suffering consequences like jail time and death, then count me out.
And let’s not forget the serfs. 38% of the population of 19th Century Russia were pretty much enslaved. If I were to travel back in time I wouldn’t take my chances of being a royal instead of a servant.
Oh yea, and the odds of that family of ten I mentioned actually being a family of five (or a family of none) are insanely high.
1950’s Cuba
Pros:
Unfortunately, there is already a pattern brewing here. I am clearly infatuated with places right before communism takes over. If you don’t know anything about Cuba pre-Fidel then just watch Godfather II. It’s a magical place filled with so much hedonism it’s hard to imagine. Drinking, partying, gambling, fedoras, suits, ties, the mob – a writer’s dream. Couple that with Cuban food and the voice of Celia Cruz and I’m sold. Just imagine rubbing shoulders with John F. Kennedy as he’s cheating on his wife with some Cuban waitress because, quite literally, no one gives a fuck in 1950’s Cuba. The amount of freedom is almost terrifying and I’m sure I would have turned into the devil himself if I were born then and there. One night your watching Frank Sinatra at the Tropicana and the next you’re at the Superman of Havana sex show. Okay…maybe the latter is a con (if you know nothing about the Superman of Havana – google at your own risk). I’m sure I wouldn’t last longer than five years living here but it would certainly be a fun five.
Cons:
Most likely I’m getting stuck here. With my luck I’d travel back in time and arrive on January 7th, 1958 – the day before Fidel took over Havana. The night I arrived I’d be happily losing all my money at a roulette table and the next I’d have an AK-47 shoved up my ass, courtesy of Che Guevara. 1950’s Cuba should be a warning to people that there can be too much of a good thing. Too much fun, too much partying, too much debauchery will always end poorly – in this case an entire country getting taken over by communists.
But what’s truly horrible about Fidel’s takeover is the birth rate in Cuba. It’s decreased by 68% since 1950. That’s hard to fathom considering the Cuban people are extremely sexual. It’s only natural you are going to get hopped up and make some bad decisions when you live on an island with perfect weather (except hurricanes), rum, and rumba music playing at all hours of the day. But somehow communism has a way of killing all the fun, and all the babies, all at once. And for those reasons (shark tank voice), I’m out.
1920’s America
Pros:
The roaring twenties sound awesome. Do we have anything currently that could compare? The 80’s were corny, the 90’s were boring, and I don’t even know what the 2000’s were, but the 1920’s in America are undeniable. At the time people argued that alcohol should be illegal, won the argument (how?), then passed the 18th Amendment. Little did they know that this would cause the biggest rager in American history. Tell people they can’t have something and they only want it more. I’d kill for alcohol to become illegal again. First, I’d probably drink less, but second, it would be awesome having to finagle your way into a speakeasy, drink booze out of coffee cups, all while wondering the entire time if you are going to get arrested. This sounds like my early college years all over again.
And then there is my dream concert. Louis Armstrong in a speakeasy in New Orleans in the 1920’s. Sure, I’d probably run into some segregation issues and the fact that black people couldn’t vote in America was definitely a con, but let me just imagine in my small pea-brain that the 1920’s were all they are cracked up to be.
Cons:
Besides the obvious racism run amuck in 1920’s America, I might argue there was something even worse than our racial divides (obviously not but let me make my jokes). Children’s devices. What a horror show.
Case 1: The Thumb Guard
Imagine locking your kids thumb up in a cage of wire so that they don’t suck on it? Jesus Christ. This thing looks like a medieval torture device. And now knowing first hand what kids do, I can assure you that thousands of kids had tetanus by the age of three because even barbed wire won’t stop them from doing what they want.
Case 2: Sun Lamp
Who needs to take their kids outside when you have a sun lamp in your home! So what if your kid is a little jaundice? Just stick them under a sun lamp and wait for them to get cancer within the next 10 years – no biggie! I’ve written a few blogs about useless products invented before a hangover cure and I have clearly not even scratched the surface. You would think the roaring twenties would have had a hangover cure figured out…nope! Too busy burning babies to a fucking crisp.
Case 3: Automatic Baby Feeder
Okay, this one has some merit. Imagine just throwing a bottle in a spring machine and somehow feeding your kid while you continue to live your life? Sounds awesome. It is also very impractical. I’ve just started bottle feeding again for the first time in two years and after every feeding my daughter is covered in formula from her neck to her belly button. I don’t know how she accomplishes this feat considering I’M HOLDING THE BOTTLE! I can only imagine her doing it herself with the Automatic Baby Feeder and drowning in a pool of milk.
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In conclusion, I think I’ve proved my case. There is no better time to be alive, and especially no better time to have kids. So stop bitching about TikTok or Instagram reels or privilege. Stop imagining some better time and place. Stop letting fake nostalgia take hold. Anyone alive right now is lucky and we forget this at our own peril.
P.S. –Shoot your mom a text and tell her your sorry about that whole birthing thing. Considering she risked her life to have you it’s the least you could fucking do.
P.P.S - Ignore any typos or errant commas. I’m tired.