On Saturday I stumbled across MTV's The 70s House, a reality show in which contestants live in a seventies-themed residence, complete seventies-themed challenges, and irritate me in a distinctly seventies-themed way. Or at least, what I assume to be a seventies-themed way; I was born in 1980, so I'm pretty much taking MTV's word for all of the wood panelling and stupid haircuts. So are the contestants — most of them look younger than me. I'd be surprised if any of them were alive for more than a couple of years starting with 197.

Yesterday afternoon I had lunch with my mom at the Silver Diner in Clarendon, a chain restaurant awash in chrome, patriotically-themed desserts, and looping videos of Elvis. It's like an Archie comic come to life, except without the prurient Betty/Veronica subtext (and therefore totally uninteresting). Again, most of the people there were too young to have been alive for the time period being evoked.

Why do we participate in these ridiculously-themed charades? I realize that nostalgia is a powerful commercial force. But the people buying into these enterprises don't seem to be driven by nostalgia per se, because they don't have relevant memories to evoke. It's more like playing make-believe, but with an unusually boring premise.

I wish someone would inject just a little imagination into these synthetic eras. You know what I'd like to do? I'd like to have dinner in a restaurant devoted to, oh, let's say the 1240s, when people rode tyrannosaurs like horses in undersea cities ruled by a race of heatray-wielding alien vixens. I could see myself getting excited about ordering jalapeno poppers under those circumstances. It's not like I'd know any better.