Throwback Fallout

Actual picture I took in a bathroom this weekend.

That sounded wrong.

This past wedding I attended a wedding at a beautiful venue far away from anything. Long winding public and private roads to get there. No cell reception. And apparently a safe haven during the Cold War.

On Thursday’s I look back at pop culture things that may have not fit in during any other day of the week.

The joy of nostalgia is knowing the ending. No matter the comic or movie or whatever may be, the story has ended and the take’s effect on the world (if any) is already known.

Not so in the moment. Comic Con is going on right now through the weekend. Half the Internet is viewing still images or 90 second trailers and decreeing “this sucks” based off this minimum knowledge. While we all love Batman, Star Wars, and do much more these were all banned in the same manner upon announcement.

But we gloss over negatives after time. People forget or deny they ever didn’t like something once it is completed. Heath Ledger is accepted now but there’s probably old Facebook posts of many people we both know raging against his casting.

So let’s travel to a beautiful wedding. The bride and groom looked great. I had a blast. My wife looked amazing in the wedding party. All of this and other events from the day will become treasured nostalgia. As we look past the fact that somewhere beneath our feet existed enough concrete and steel to keep us safe for some time. Recently enough for a sticker on a bathroom window to not appear faded.

Our negative memories are just as close as the positive ones, but so much easier to ignore.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s