He’s right. Before 1998, waiting was a condition of life. You waited for a letter. You waited for your favorite song to come on the radio so you could hit ‘record.’ You waited for Thursday night at 8:00 PM because if you missed Seinfeld , it was gone until summer reruns.
Following 1998, we entered the long now. Everything is recorded, archived, and optimized. Following -1998-
I remember the summer of 1997 vividly. You could be unreachable . If you drove from Boston to Maine, you simply vanished for three hours. No cell signal. No texting “I’m 5 minutes away.” You just... arrived. It felt like magic. He’s right
I’ve been digitizing old home videos from 1997 lately. Grainy VHS footage of backyard barbecues, the static hiss of a CRT television in the background, and the sound of a rotary phone ringing. My nephew watched it over my shoulder and asked, “Why is everyone just... waiting ?” You waited for your favorite song to come
Looking back at media produced before 1998, there is a relentless optimism. We thought Y2K was a technical glitch, not an existential dread. We thought the internet would be a global coffeehouse, not a global colosseum. We watched The Truman Show (1998) and thought, “Wow, what a creepy concept,” not “Oh, that’s just Tuesday on Instagram.”
The Last Polaroid Summer: Why 1997 Felt Like the End of an Era
I don’t want to go back permanently. I like having the sum of human knowledge in my palm. But I miss the silence. I miss the waiting.
