There is something pleasantly romantic about nostalgia. Particularly nostalgia for what has never been experienced: imagined times, long ago. I’m certainly prone to it. I love costuming and living history and reenactments and really good, period-accurate films and television series. Nemea and I enjoy throwing themed costume parties, and I go overboard in my efforts to make them like time travel, like going Somewhere or Somewhen Else for awhile. I think there is also something characteristically American about this propensity. The entirety of the American conservative movement, in fact, is built around a rosy imagined 1950s when things were “normal”—meaning, of course, they were good for middle class straight white men,…