"Do you have any '80s music?" asks my passenger, who I suspect was born around 1987. Umm, I don't think what I think of as "'80s music" matches hers. I'm thinking HÜsker DÜ and the Replacements; I suspect she's thinking Duran Duran (who I also liked, dammit to hell). I find a Tears for Fears CD, and she's happy.

It's still on when a passenger my age gets in, and we start talking about this. "Remember when we were little, and we saw the ads for those K-Tel compilations of 'classic rock'?"

He laughs: "Oh yeah, I thought they were just so lame—all those one-hit wonders, the inevitable Led Zeppelin track." I laugh harder: "And always, 'Afternoon Delight.'"

At the grand age of 12, we felt superior to anyone who bought such things. But then we start talking about the many '80s compilations that are out now. Many of them truly suck. But sometimes when I hear the better ones, like from Rhino, I wince a little bit.

Yeah, I was listening to very underground stuff, as was my passenger, who, not knowing I was the Night Cabbie, enthused about the Mission of Burma column some weeks back. (So there, ya naysaying bastards!) But I'll hear, oh, "Bette Davis Eyes" or "Major Tom," and be like, "Oh, dammit, I loved that song." He confesses to "99 Luftballons"; I 'fess up to "Send Me an Angel," which I still have on 45.

"Face it," he says. "We're turning into our parents." Noooooo!