I miss a lot of things lately. I miss the '90s, when it was socially acceptable to pair your Bulls jersey with a pair of Horace Grant plastic science class face goggles, and inferably either a three-peat ring or a chorus of schoolkids laughing their asses off at you. I'm over the moon that the former is back in style, though if I go through with that head-to-toe athletic look, my brother instantly becomes my early style icon in a fashion-tinged kind of Inception that I'm not actually sure how to mentally process.
I miss saying hi to neighbors, smiling at strangers, and thanking people without getting a tone of shock in their response. Isn't the social order that before 9am, any strangers you see on the street in your neighborhood are deserving of a hello? This, of course, does not count the time when I did a 7am trudge through the projects to take the "further train" to my Manhattan gym and got terrifyingly greeting by so many men, you'd think I was on duty as a cocktail waitress or very, very very hot. (With my lack of balance and shifty waistline, neither, of course, will ever be true.) I almost feel like my parents raised me well, and New York picked up where they left off, hacking through the forest of respectfulness and honor with attitude machetes of long-lead safety and street smarts.
I miss when things were cheap. Were they more fun then, too? I'm not sure, as I'm pompous-ed out of the price bracket that allows me to blindly enjoy things like "fishbowl cocktails" and "pokey sticks", and while I may feel better temporarily in gut, I don't feel much better in the head after spending $7.50 on a fruit parfait, $11 on a green juice or $13 on a raw kale salad. Remember when Gushers were a viable snack? And dinner didn't make you question where the chicken came from, how far it traveled, what it was fed and sometimes even if it had an adorable name you should address it by when popping it into the oven and overcooking it? ("For dinner, we will have Gabriel, a lovely bird raised on the outskirts of an Iowa farm...") Food used to be food, not a potential vehicle for corn-infused manipulation or Just...food.
So, essentially, do I miss a 1992 Chicago? When the internet was nigh, ignorance was bliss, and things were easy? Perhaps. (The cheese fries were better back then, too.) But then again, we've got Candy Crush, phones combined with cameras and those hilariously horrible Daily Mail subheadlines — "actor needed 'me' time" — so I guess awkwardly smiling at the man hosing down the sidewalk and settling for a neon nerd strap, for now, will have to do.