Child of a different era

I often wonder if I should have been born a child of the 80s (which, literally, I suppose, means 60s) rather than now. Reasons being:

While the hairstyle could use work, A Flock of Seagulls is fabulous
I wear my sunglasses at night (NOT “stunna shades” you thieving hip-hoppers)
Rubik’s Cubes rock my socks
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, The Goonies, and Back to the Future; need I say more?
I have a pair of shiny, tight, slightly-stretchy black pants for 80s theme parties. The level physical of discomfort experienced while wearing these pants is a testament to just how authentic they are.

Of course, such modern niceties as the Interwebsâ„¢, Segways, and Prozac would no longer be available, but something deep within tells me that I would be too busy reveling in a sea of gaudy outfits, one-hit wonders, and mind-altering substances to care. Who says Reaganomics has to ruin your day? Trickle down the fun, baby.