Oh, Grow Up

Remember "Thirtysomething"? I do. The problem was, at the time that it was on, I was twentysomething. I looked at the zany antics of the Steadmans and their close circle of friends, and pined for their comfy suburban existence.
Okay, so the antics weren't so zany, and I didn't exactly pine. I sat there, slack-jawed and imagined a world of arts and crafts furniture and jobs in advertising that involved little or no creativity. This was a planet of pleasant looking people with very photogenic houses with very appealing friends. The Steadmans and their progeny lived in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The city of Brotherly Love, in the county of dramedy. Twenty years ago, there was no such thing as "dramedy." These clever TV guys, they decided that life was a series of ups and downs, laughter and tears. Michael worked with his best friend Elliot. Elliot wasn't nearly as nice as Michael. Most of the really nasty stuff happened to Elliot and his wife. Elliot, unlike his pal Michael, was not married to Hope.

In the end, Michael flees to California. He ponders setting up shop with Elliot one last time. Hope threatens to leave him. Then there was no more thirtysomething. The end came fifteen years ago. No long goodbyes. No three hour series finale. Just a periodic flurry of reruns on Bravo.

Since then, I lived through my own thirtysomething. The rollercoaster of life roars on, and I keep holding on. It occurs to me now that we have no idea what fortysomething ought to look like. Elliot's son would be closing in on the big three-oh himself. Was there a baby boomlet caused by all the yuppies curled up in front of their televisions watching ABC and dreaming of a life like Mikes? A life full of Hope?
They used to plug the series by saying, "It's a lot like life - with better writers." My life doesn't need better writers - just a better editor.