Back in Time
The other night I was taken back in time. I found myself watching a Spanish program of old murders in the area of Zaragoza, told by the (now) retired police officers who ran the investigations, and actors who did a reenactment. The actual program wasn't very interesting. What was interesting was the trip back in time to those years in which I was a teenager. Seeing how some of the actors were dressed reminded me of those halcyon days.
1987, the year I turned eighteen. The Cold War was still going strong, yet it seemed to be cracking open with Gorbachev's perestroika, or restructuring, which later turned into the openness of glasnost. It seemed at the time the Soviets had heard Sting's song, Russians, especially the stanza, "We share the same biology, regardless of ideology./Believe me when I say to you,/I hope the Russians love their children, too."
In Spain, the Socialists were finishing their construction of the Estado de Bienestar, or Welfare State, though not with the same shades of meaning of the word welfare as in the Unites States. Rather, it meant that with an imposition of taxes according to income, the state guaranteed healthcare and education for everyone. It also made sure that anyone not able to work received some sort of income, whether it be through unemployment subsidies, or disability payments. It paid subsidies for low income people to buy or rent public housing, and got a start on modernizing infrastructure. Things that have been chipped away at ever since then by the conservative governments who say austerity is the only way to survive.
One thing that immediately springs to mind, though, is the clothing and hairstyles. Those big, big sweaters, with the shoulders starting at the elbow, shapeless, and completely comfortable. Skin-tight jeans that weren't as comfortable, yet with all different stone washed designs, and sometimes in different colors, like a pastel rainbow-colored pair I once had. I also remember one of those sweaters. It was green, with a type of Shaker knit popular then. I bought it in Spain on a vacation, I think in 1984. I wore it for my yearbook picture, and I loved it so much, I brought it with me when we moved in 1991. After some years hanging around in a closet, my daughter found it, and now she wears it. She wears it because she likes it and doesn't care about the current fashion.
The hair was something else! Carded and hair-sprayed until it stood up higher than Marie Antoinette's. I could never get it so, though, because my hair tends to fall, and I have never had the gift of being able to arrange my hair. I can just about wash and blow dry it, hoping it looks decent. When I moved here, though, the high hair was still in fashion, and in a group of friends I went out with, there was one girl who wanted to become a hair stylist. She had the touch of style in her hands, and she would take me in hand and arrange my hair for the evening. It's a pity I have no pictures of those evenings.
Another memory, though disagreeable, is the drug addiction that ran in corners pretty much everywhere. That was the decade, in Galicia, of the famous drug runners that became famous, and laundered their drug money in creating factories and jobs. That gave them many loyal subjects who would do their small bidding for them. Too many innocents fell into consumption then. There was a fountain in Santiago, in the old area of town, where junkies went to wash their needles, and hide them between the stones. Now, the stones are clean, and there is no sign of any foreign object stuck in them.
The eighties were a decade of living it up and paying for it some day. The day appeared not long after, and the recession of the early nineties woke us up a little. Money was worshipped; everyone could be rich if they worked hard enough. There was no reason to be poor, unless you simply were lazy. It was the Calvinist belief taken to its highest point, encouraged by Reaganomics and the rising neo-cons.
To this extent, people spent money. In fact, savings in the eighties went down, and people went into debt. Technology that had been only for large businesses appeared in the home, and advertising for that and everything else became an art form. Home computers made their debut. I wanted one so badly! I remember begging my parents for one, but they never bought it. Nor the Atari game system that was shown in voluptuously tempting commercials. I was, however, too old for the Cabbage Patch Kids, which was good, because the public went bonkers trying to find one for their kids, helped by those cute commercials that seemed to brainwash everyone in the recommended age bracket, parents included.
HBO began, but since it was premium, my parents didn't include it in their cable subscription. We had the basic package with almost fifty channels, in which we watched mainly the Spanish language Univision because my parents understood that channel. I still remember the Mexican show, El Chavo del Ocho. Or, I think it was Mexican. I do remember my parents loved it. The other new channel I watched was the Weather Channel. I've always been a weather nut. Fox also made its debut back then. I still remember The Tracy Ullman show and The Simpsons. Yes, The Simpsons is that old.
Thirty years later, people are still stuck on becoming rich or at least, looking it, excoriating the poor for being lazy. The world is still on the brink of nuclear war, only this time with a different "devil." Fashion has its good and its bad, and hair will never obey the latest do. Advertising is still selling us the goose of the golden eggs, only the eggs are gold-plated. And with all the channels on television, there's still little to watch. There's a book that's been through a few printings that explains it:
1987, the year I turned eighteen. The Cold War was still going strong, yet it seemed to be cracking open with Gorbachev's perestroika, or restructuring, which later turned into the openness of glasnost. It seemed at the time the Soviets had heard Sting's song, Russians, especially the stanza, "We share the same biology, regardless of ideology./Believe me when I say to you,/I hope the Russians love their children, too."
In Spain, the Socialists were finishing their construction of the Estado de Bienestar, or Welfare State, though not with the same shades of meaning of the word welfare as in the Unites States. Rather, it meant that with an imposition of taxes according to income, the state guaranteed healthcare and education for everyone. It also made sure that anyone not able to work received some sort of income, whether it be through unemployment subsidies, or disability payments. It paid subsidies for low income people to buy or rent public housing, and got a start on modernizing infrastructure. Things that have been chipped away at ever since then by the conservative governments who say austerity is the only way to survive.
One thing that immediately springs to mind, though, is the clothing and hairstyles. Those big, big sweaters, with the shoulders starting at the elbow, shapeless, and completely comfortable. Skin-tight jeans that weren't as comfortable, yet with all different stone washed designs, and sometimes in different colors, like a pastel rainbow-colored pair I once had. I also remember one of those sweaters. It was green, with a type of Shaker knit popular then. I bought it in Spain on a vacation, I think in 1984. I wore it for my yearbook picture, and I loved it so much, I brought it with me when we moved in 1991. After some years hanging around in a closet, my daughter found it, and now she wears it. She wears it because she likes it and doesn't care about the current fashion.
The hair was something else! Carded and hair-sprayed until it stood up higher than Marie Antoinette's. I could never get it so, though, because my hair tends to fall, and I have never had the gift of being able to arrange my hair. I can just about wash and blow dry it, hoping it looks decent. When I moved here, though, the high hair was still in fashion, and in a group of friends I went out with, there was one girl who wanted to become a hair stylist. She had the touch of style in her hands, and she would take me in hand and arrange my hair for the evening. It's a pity I have no pictures of those evenings.
Another memory, though disagreeable, is the drug addiction that ran in corners pretty much everywhere. That was the decade, in Galicia, of the famous drug runners that became famous, and laundered their drug money in creating factories and jobs. That gave them many loyal subjects who would do their small bidding for them. Too many innocents fell into consumption then. There was a fountain in Santiago, in the old area of town, where junkies went to wash their needles, and hide them between the stones. Now, the stones are clean, and there is no sign of any foreign object stuck in them.
The eighties were a decade of living it up and paying for it some day. The day appeared not long after, and the recession of the early nineties woke us up a little. Money was worshipped; everyone could be rich if they worked hard enough. There was no reason to be poor, unless you simply were lazy. It was the Calvinist belief taken to its highest point, encouraged by Reaganomics and the rising neo-cons.
To this extent, people spent money. In fact, savings in the eighties went down, and people went into debt. Technology that had been only for large businesses appeared in the home, and advertising for that and everything else became an art form. Home computers made their debut. I wanted one so badly! I remember begging my parents for one, but they never bought it. Nor the Atari game system that was shown in voluptuously tempting commercials. I was, however, too old for the Cabbage Patch Kids, which was good, because the public went bonkers trying to find one for their kids, helped by those cute commercials that seemed to brainwash everyone in the recommended age bracket, parents included.
HBO began, but since it was premium, my parents didn't include it in their cable subscription. We had the basic package with almost fifty channels, in which we watched mainly the Spanish language Univision because my parents understood that channel. I still remember the Mexican show, El Chavo del Ocho. Or, I think it was Mexican. I do remember my parents loved it. The other new channel I watched was the Weather Channel. I've always been a weather nut. Fox also made its debut back then. I still remember The Tracy Ullman show and The Simpsons. Yes, The Simpsons is that old.
Thirty years later, people are still stuck on becoming rich or at least, looking it, excoriating the poor for being lazy. The world is still on the brink of nuclear war, only this time with a different "devil." Fashion has its good and its bad, and hair will never obey the latest do. Advertising is still selling us the goose of the golden eggs, only the eggs are gold-plated. And with all the channels on television, there's still little to watch. There's a book that's been through a few printings that explains it:
"The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be;
And that which is done is that which shall be done:
And there is no new thing under the sun."
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