Thus begins the second paragraph of "Tapka," the featured fiction piece by Daid Bezmozgis in this week's New Yorker. I had to read that line twice to ensure that the plump, snowman eight was not in fact a three anted up by my blurry contacts. It wasn't. Yes, The New Yorker—that venerated literary weekly with the Depression Era type on the front cover and Sotheby's auction announcements on the back—has a story that is verily reminiscing about the 1980's.

Geez, we're old.