Imagine the following scenario:
A group of 30-something adults sit around in a circle on folding chairs. Several are stirring coffee in Styrofoam cups. Nobody is speaking. Everyone looks a little embarrassed to be there.
The person wearing a name tag looks at the clock and says, “OK, folks. Let’s get started. Would anyone like to go first?”
One handsome fellow coughs, raises his hand. “Yes?”
“Hi, my name is Mr. C., and I’m a child of the 80s.”
“Hi, Mr. C!” responds the group.
“It started innocently enough. Not like I had much choice. After all, I couldn’t do much about the year I was born, could I?”
Low chuckles around the room.
"Anyway, when I was in high school I experimented a little, you know? Some Devo here, a little Tears for Fears there, usually just on weekends. Pretty soon, though, I was into the hard stuff. Duran Duran before school. Adam Ant between classes. But I knew I'd hit bottom when I started playing Murray Head's One Night in Bangkok over and over again. I needed help."
Murmurs of sympathy, nods of "Yeah, I've been there, too!"
"I got a little better around '91, thanks to Nirvana, flannel and Starbucks, but there was always a little voice in the back of my mind, calling to me with Wall of Voodoo and Bow Wow Wow. I was able to fight it off, though, and moved on with my life. I healed! I got married, had kids, started a career. I was ok... or so I thought.
"Then it was the '80's weekends on KROQ. "Hey, I'm just trying to relax, here! I can take it or leave it!" Denial, pure and simple."
"The real trouble started with VH1, and I Love the 80s! I'm only human! How could I possibly resist B-list celebs making humorous comments about the pop culture of my youth? It's not my fault!"
By this time, the group is starting to get agitated. Coffee cups are being crushed underfoot as thirty-somethings grab cellphones and BMW keys, heading towards the door in an angry mob. "Down with VH1! It's Not our Fault! It's Not our Fault! Death to Michael Ian Black!"
Nobody likes the 90s, do they?