It is the decade of human drives versus disk drives, and the id is casting a long shadow, especially over the Internet. The id turns out to be a little like a water balloon, just the way Freud described it. Squeeze the balloon tight at one point, it swells at another. So as technocrats offer up voice mail with endless digital options but no real voices, mice that point instead of squeak, and the option of going to work or going food shopping without really going anywhere, the id's stock is rising like Coca-Cola. It's the real thing.
Cigars are back.
Big, thick ones that are routinely finding their way into women's mouths as well as men's. Strip clubs are sprouting up everywhere and business is booming. Cosmopolitan magazine has rededicated itself to exploring the female orgasm. Drugs, an unfortunate, artificial and cowardly flirtation with one's mind, are the rage. Larry Flynt, publisher of Hustler, the first large-circulation man's magazine to photograph women's genitals without any fuzzy lenses, is being depicted as a hero in a major motion picture.