Dwain Northey (Gen X)

I wanted to take everyone on a little tour of my brain when I’m trying not to focus on the existential threat of what is going on in our world today. Here’s a little trip down the rabbit hole.

So, here’s the thing—Gilligan’s Island. “A three-hour tour.” A THREE. HOUR. TOUR. And yet, somehow, Ginger shows up with a wardrobe that would make Cher jealous during a Vegas residency. The Howells? They’ve got steamer trunks, evening wear, tennis whites, pearls, and a portable safe. On a day cruise. Who brings formal wear to a glorified booze cruise? Were they expecting a Titanic-style gala on a tiny boat piloted by a guy named “Skipper”? Oh, and let’s not forget the Professor. The man couldn’t fix the boat, couldn’t patch a hole, but somehow—SOMEHOW—he had the tools, raw materials, and electrical know-how to build a radio out of coconuts, a washing machine out of bamboo, and what was essentially a renewable energy grid in the middle of nowhere. But patch the damn boat? Nope. Apparently, coconut-based naval engineering wasn’t part of the curriculum.

And don’t even get me started on the food situation. They were supposed to be gone for three hours. Three. Hours. Yet there was always an endless supply of fruit, pies, and random props like ropes, tents, and medical kits. Like, who’s catering this island? Is there an Amazon Prime drone dropping packages just out of camera range? And why, after YEARS stranded, did no one look remotely sunburned? No peeling, no tan lines, no desperate mosquito-swatting? Either that lagoon had an SPF rating of infinity, or the Professor secretly invented Coppertone out of palm fronds.

But wait—here comes the mental hard left turn—because thinking about TV absurdities makes me leap straight to Happy Days. A show filmed in the 1970s about the 1950s. Fine, nostalgia goggles, leather jackets, jukeboxes, The Fonz smacking appliances into obedience—cool. But here’s the horrifying part: if we did Happy Days now, in 2025, it would be about the year 2000. The year 2000! You know, Y2K panic, frosted tips, Napster lawsuits, the Spice Girls fading out while Limp Bizkit was inexplicably popular. People were still carrying Nokia bricks and bragging about 200 text messages a month. You’d have an entire episode about someone trying to burn a mix CD without ruining the disc, or someone screaming because their mom picked up the phone and kicked them off dial-up AOL.

And as a Gen X-er, this is where the cold sweat sets in—because the 2000s don’t feel like “retro.” They feel like, I don’t know, last week? Like I could still find a Blockbuster return envelope under my car seat. But no, apparently, kids now look at the year 2000 the way we looked at Happy Days. The past. Ancient history. The retro aesthetic. Which means someday, some dead-eyed network exec is going to greenlight a laugh-track sitcom where the “cool guy” is wearing JNCO jeans, flipping open a Motorola Razr, and saying “Talk to the hand” without irony.

And that, friends, is way scarier than being stranded on an island with Gilligan, a suitcase of sequined gowns, and a professor who can invent a nuclear reactor but not a damn raft.

Thanks for taking the short trip down the rabbit hole…