The flux capacitor in the winter of our discontent

Children of the 80s--at least those who weren't living in a cave and hadn't been forced to sew their eyes shut in a sick PTL Club mind control experiment--lusted after that silver DeLorean and its ability to catapult a younger, yet still vulnerable Michael J. Fox back in ty-eeem.

By that point, the point where America had grown so disillusioned with its direction that it felt it had to deeply investigate its past (at its own peril, mind you), I doubt that many people were ruminating on Steinbeck and his ruminations about a soicety failed. I doubt when studying up for the role of the feckless rock and roll high school slacker that Fox dabbled in the motivations of Ethan Allen Hawley and his disillusionment.

Jump around a bit on the entertainment canvas and you'll find Marlon Brando as a disgruntled and, yes, disillusioned motorcycle gang leader. You'll find James Dean slumping off in no particular direction but disillusionment. Then there's John Travolta (is that really a surname?) in Urban Cowboy. He got to mess around with that Winger chick and ride a mechanical bull, but he was pretty fed up, too.

My point: It's a timeless theme.

Life here is in flux as well. I don't know if we're quite to the point of generating 1.21 jiggawatts, but we're pretty close. The question is whether we'll all end up back in ty-eeem or somewhere else.

Where's Christopher Lloyd when you need him?