The Times says Gen-Yers, born between the years 1980 and 2003, are looking back longingly at Britney and Eminem (hence their respective comebacks, except they really haven't been away that long). Also ripe for nostalgia: Harry Potter, despite the fact that the final movies haven't even come out yet. And a marketer for Live Nation refers to Blink-182, Limp Bizkit and Creed as "classic rock for the next generation," which make me pretty depressed about the future of oldies stations. Allow me to take you on a tour of the things I actually miss, starting with the oldest and ending with the newest.

Bike Shorts Under A Skirt

Yeah, I know 80s nostalgia has been pretty exhaustively catalogued already. But that doesn't stop me hankering for this combo from time to time. When my mom finally bought me a connected bike-short-and-skirt outfit, my two crushes told me they were going to fight "for the friendship of you." I don't think they ever did it, but it remains the high point of my romantic life to date.

Image via Chictopia.

Alvin and the Chipmunks

As the oldest child, I had pretty strict TV rules (my younger brother was totally watching When Wild Animals Shred Your Face as an infant). So I missed out on Fraggle Rock, Small Wonder, Saved by the Bell, Clarissa Explains It All, and the Nickelodeon universe in general. But I did get to watch Alvin and the Chipmunks, and I ate that shit up. Who can forget the episode wherein Chipette Britney tries on various outfits to the tune of "Material Girl"? Not me.

Creepy Crawlers

Somebody recently told me that these devices, in which you could transform colored goo into small, slightly squishy insects, were supposed to be a boy's version of the Easy Bake Oven. Whatever. They were my version of awesome. I'm pretty sure they had to put warnings all over the box that you couldn't eat the bugs, because, with their candy hues, you wanted to so bad. There was also an accompanying Creepy Crawlers show, featuring animated versions of the bugs and presaging later disturbing toy-media crossovers like Transformers.

The Butthole Surfers

Screw Eminem, I miss the Butthole Surfers. I bought their wittily titled Electiclarryland for the song "Pepper," and quickly learned that when you buy an album because you like one song, you have to listen to a bunch of songs like "My Brother's Wife" (lyrics, if I remember: "I fucked, I fucked, I fucked my brother's wife!"). I don't so much miss their music (which is apparently still on offer) as much as I miss the thrill of buying an album with the word "butthole" on the cover and a picture of a horrifically injured ass-cheek on the inside. Ah, youth.

Y2K

The Times uses Y2K as an example of the quaint fears of a pre-9/11 world, a world Gen-Yers wish they could return to. But at the time, it was really scary! Maybe because my high school history teacher told us that the Soviet Union had nuclear missiles aimed at the 500 biggest American cities, which would go off in the event of even the smallest computer glitch. Thinking about December of 1999 makes me nostalgic for a time when ill-informed grownups could still strike fear into my heart. Now I have to do it myself.

This Really Great Sandwich I Ate In 2004

It looked kind of like this, except with Havarti cheese and olive tapenade and avocado. I had just come back from a summer in Boston, where I was trying to save money by stretching a can of beans over an entire week, and I was kind of depressed and anxious and hungry, and my friend Max and I bought these huge sandwiches and ate them on the beach in Santa Cruz. A little actual sand got in them. Yeah, you kind of had to be there, but this slideshow isn't about you, it's about me.

Wednesday

Ah, Wednesday. Such an innocent time. I woke up, I wrote about the male brain, I ate some pizza. If only I had taken the time to savor Wednesday, to really revel in a day whose beauty will never come again! Until next week.

Harry Potter Is Their Peter Pan [NYT]

I realize that the music industry has changed so drastically since 1993, when Exile in Guyville came out, that indie rock has ceased to mean anything whatsoever, but I wonder what the girls like me and Moe are listening to today; not the girls who worship Rihanna and that fucking Katy Perry we get 10,000 press releases about (apparently Perry's single "I Kissed A Girl," is number 2 on iTunes. Sample lyric: "I kissed a girl just to try it, hope my boyfriend don't mind it."). I mean the girls who read Sylvia Plath and write bad poetry and secretly hate everyone and themselves. Who are they listening to?

I asked some friends who write about music, and they seem to think the days of apathy are over. "Indie rock" girls are either like M.I.A and Santogold, awesome, multicultural and political but also optimistic; or they're folk-y twee beauties like Regina Spektor and Joanna Newsom. I want to draw ties between music and the Clintons and Obama (the Clintons = apathetic 90s = Liz Phair; Obama = activist-y, optimistic aughts = M.I.A.) but blogging doesn't give me the time to flesh that out so I don't sound idiotic.

But you know, the music industry is a huge and sprawling thing these days since no one pays for music anymore anyway. There has to be some room for lonely ladies who will tell you that we're all going to die. Can anyone tell me where they are?

Sound Of A Generation [NPR]
Earlier: Did Liz Phair Predict Your Life Or Did She Actually Dictate It?

I spoke with an acquaintance who just graduated from college last May, and is about eight months into her first-ever job. I asked her, now that the stress of the first six months and figuring out the lay of the land, how she likes her work. "I answer the phone and file things," she said. "You don't need a college degree to do what I do. It's stupid that I am in this job." This answer told me nothing about how she enjoyed the nature of her work; whether the field she had chosen to go into was interesting to her, whether she was learning things from those above her, being exposed to a way of thinking or a process she had not encountered before. I knew nothing of how she liked her work, only that she didn't enjoy the process of working. "Maybe I'll become a party-planner," she then said, "That seems fun."

Pink says this is why this generation needs rules, and Belkin herself points out that it's not just the young in need of a little reality slap, but their parents, noting how she received a letter from a reader who "described her daughter, who will be graduating from college next month, as paralyzed by the fear that whatever job she takes would not be her passion and would therefore be wrong. "How can I help her find her life's calling?" the mother wondered." I will save Lisa Belkin the time of answering this one: Dear Mama and Daughter, Chillax.

There is no perfect job. As my dad has always told me, as long as your work is not immoral, unethical, or illegal — well, then it's good work. Sure, hopefully you find it interesting, but there is no make-believe land where you are rewarded daily with gold stars, and championed for your "passion" for merely showing up and breathing air. But if you work hard and at the end of the day can be proud of what you did — well then, you done good.

Prepping Children for the 9 to 5 [New York Times]