In my neighborhood we've found out who the "nice" neighbors are, and we hang out with them a fair ammount when we can, so that's sort of like the "good ol' days".

Then my dad reminds me of his "good ol' days" staring down the barrel of the Vietnam draft. Then on my 22nd birthday, my grandfather told me how by the time he was my age he'd gone to college, joined the army, gone to war, bombed cities, been shot down, and had to evade the enemy. While evading he was eating raw potatos and cutting the maggots out of raw pork so he could eat it.

There will always be bad times, but what makes our good times so much worse than the good times of the good ol' days?