Last night, I was at a viewing party for The Pick Up Artist (more on that later, lucky you) and we were all joking around the way that friends do and I made a reference to Picture Pages and the room went silent. No one got my joke, and it did not help when I tried to explain that it was this thing where Bill Cosby did puzzles with his magic talking pen from outer space. I have never felt so old. Here I was making what I thought was a fun pop culture reference when I might as well have been talking about the cigarette girls who used to walk around at the Benny Goodman shows offering filterless Chesterfields for a quarter, and penny candies for the lovely lady as long as she was wearing her gloves. This morning, I recounted this story to a pop culturally astute friend over IM and they had also never heard of Picture Pages. But I know that I did not make it up, and I have the YouTube evidence to prove it.
At least I THINK I have the YouTube evidence to prove it. After last night and this morning, I’m not entirely convinced that YouTube isn’t just a minor invention in the endless fever dream that is my comatose existence and that in reality I’m a 98-year-old man lying in some hospital bed somewhere as his family sits impatiently at his side waiting for him to die.