Tonight I attended a party on a pirate ship. Actually, it was a rowhouse. But it was much better than a proper pirate ship, because it had both a jolly roger and a stunning view of Center City.
I met a time traveler. She is seeking her father, who precedes her in her journey through time. She deserved to win the costume contest, for her steam-powered watch if nothing else, and she did. But I couldn't resist asking how many times she replayed the evening before the prize was hers. Only twice, she insisted.
The conversation turned to physics, as it so often does among time travelers, and she asked if I were enjoying the new Cosmos, having also grown up on Carl Sagan's original in the seventies. Not yet, but I'm looking forward to it.
How many times will Saturn return in my lifetime? How many retro-retro-retro arcades, how many dance crazes, how many 25-year-olds singing Black Sabbath at the Adobe Cafe will I enjoy?
Tough to say. But I sail the narrow strait between the rocks, and go jogging every morning, and wear my earplugs at the club. Because I love this long moment.
We wish we could be teenagers again, knowing what we know now. But we are.