Ah, the 80s and 90s—when life was simpler, phones were attached to walls, and the height of technology was mastering the art of “rewinding” a cassette with a pencil. Today, as I lumber through this dystopian wasteland of silicone and screens, I can’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia (or maybe that’s just heartburn from that leftover pizza I found in the fridge). Either way, I embarked on an epic quest to find my long-lost CD collection because who doesn’t want a fizzy dose of nostalgia mixed with the sweet smell of moldy cardboard?
Picture this: I clear a path through the debris of half-eaten Pop-Tarts and dusty VHS tapes (remember those?!), with “Friends” reruns blasting in the background to remind me that time is, in fact, a flat circle. I stumble upon a stack of dusty furniture and—lo and behold—there it is! My precious collection, a rainbow of jewel cases with album covers that screamed “I have artistic taste!” Why were we so enamored with the idea of “owning” music, anyway? Unless there’s a rare CD of “Criss and Tina’s Greatest Hits” hiding in there, what was I thinking? Now all I have is a heap of plastic, a reminder of when we thought the world was our oyster because we had a CD player AND a Walkman.
As I flip through the albums, I’m hit with a wave of memories—Steve Perry's glorious hair teasing me into pop-rock oblivion and Green Day reminding me that every day was a “Longview” away from adulthood. Oh, the irony of listening to lyrics about rebellion while sitting on a couch I’ve owned for decades, but hey, at least I've got my anti-establishment T-shirt on, right? Now they make those things in organic cotton, and I can’t even wear mine without fearing it's become a symbol of my mid-life crisis, possibly causing eye rolls among the Gen-Z kids while they smugly tell me about the “modern” ways of streaming.
Finally, after dealing with the reality that my responsible adulting has left me with a lifetime supply of barely used coasters, I lug my CD collection to the living room and set it down triumphantly. There’s nothing quite like the joy of experiencing a “skipping CD” during your favorite jams. And honestly, who needs Spotify when you can have the sweet, sweet sound of nostalgia? So here I am, embracing the chaos, pondering how we survived life before digital streaming, giving a resigned nod to the fact that every Gen-Xer has their cross to bear—and mine just happens to be figuring out which of my 90s boy band CDs could possibly still work after nearly three moves and a decade-long battle with dust mites. Welcome back to the past, my friends—now less of a utopia and more of a reality TV show.