sitting in your folks' Town and Country wagon at the drive-in with a girlfriend and a couple other friends, watching this idiotic little piece of duck fluff called Surf Party? It's 1964, the Beatles have just landed, the Maddox and Turner Joy are--or are not--getting shot at in the Gulf of Tonkin, JFK is dead (that fracture will hurt forever), LBJ is going to win this fall.
America's sauce is strong, and surfer movies are all the rage.
What was that like, living in a bygone era, where no one could imagine the bodies stacking up like cord wood, Watts, MLK and RFK bled out, Tet, Panthers, Nixon, Kent State; what horrors the following years would bring.
Armstrong and Aldrin were still rookies. Nobody in your circle knew what pot smelled like. Heroin was only a problem for "Negroes." A sugar cube was for coffee.
What would it be like to step into that way-back machine . . .
And forget?
America's sauce is strong, and surfer movies are all the rage.
What was that like, living in a bygone era, where no one could imagine the bodies stacking up like cord wood, Watts, MLK and RFK bled out, Tet, Panthers, Nixon, Kent State; what horrors the following years would bring.
Armstrong and Aldrin were still rookies. Nobody in your circle knew what pot smelled like. Heroin was only a problem for "Negroes." A sugar cube was for coffee.
What would it be like to step into that way-back machine . . .
And forget?