I was born in the wrong time period. As much as I love DVR and workouts with the Shake Weight,… I was born in the wrong time period. As much as I love DVR and workouts with the Shake Weight, something is missing in this new millennium. Yes, I realize that the plague and witchcraft accusations are also missing, but I never said I wanted to be John Proctor.

I just want to find the time where I belong, among people who understand me. I’ve read enough Shakespeare plays to realize nobody will actually understand the way I speak if I go back far enough, but if we’ve learned anything from Ozzy Osbourne it’s that verbal communication is overrated.

My first thought, logically, is that I would make an excellent gladiator. I’m swift on my feet, and if Russell Crowe could do it then I can too. There’s something about being in front of thousands of people wearing togas and wishing for spilt blood that gets the adrenaline pumping.

I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right: It sounds like a European debt debate. But at least in gladiatorial games somebody wins.

The only problem with being a gladiator is that apparently, it was all real back then — you hear that, Stone Cold Steve Austin? I wouldn’t exactly look forward to the whole thumbs up-thumbs down thing, so maybe I should consider being a different historical figure: an Aztec.

Now before you go all Cortez on me, let me get my Montezuma on for a little bit. Who wouldn’t want to dress up like a Jaguar and have fun-colored shields? It sounds like elementary school arts and crafts, take two. The headdresses put Green Bay Packers fans to shame, and the symbol of the eagle snatching up the snake would at least allow me to retain some American patriotism.

But I’m not such a big fan of human sacrifice. I don’t quite understand the fanfare there, guys. There’s also that whole conquistador debacle, which I don’t think I would handle well. So it’s time to continue my search for the proper time period, and my inner patriot thinks I should at least look into the American Revolution.

Oh hey, George Washington, didn’t see you there — these Brits keep trying to tread on me. I could play dress-up and pour out some tea — for my homeboy Crispus Attucks, of course — while I declare my independence.

I could hang out on Bunker Hill and hear some shots fired over in Lexington. Above all, I would finally be able to understand what presidential candidates mean when they say, “Our Founding Fathers believed [insert partisan opinion that wasn’t an issue in 1776].”

The only problem with the Revolution is that Valley Forge was real cold. I complain about Pitt in winter, but at least I don’t get frostbite. Plus, I don’t want to live before Abraham Lincoln — for sartorial purposes, of course. There seems to be only one option left: the 1960s.

Seriously, I could be in “Mad Men”! Watch out Don Draper, they weren’t kidding about lung cancer. The ’60s were the ultimate time to be alive.

I could have listened to The Beatles, watched Audrey Hepburn and voted for John Kennedy (or Nixon … if you’re into that kind of thing) all in one decade! And I could have checked out Obama’s birth to clear up that whole birth certificate debate. I have a dream, and it’s all about the ’60s.

The only problem with the ’60s is that I’m just not that groovy. I don’t know how to play guitar and, in my opinion, Woodstock seriously needed a custodian. Flower power sounds a little weak and I would really miss my iPod. So that decade might not be right for me after all. I’m not even an astronaut!

All things considered, I guess I’ll stay where I am. I may always wonder what marching with Alexander the Great or storming the Bastille would be like, but at least I have HD. When push comes to shove, I think I’ll be okay here and make it through my days without the glory of the Colosseum.

The next time that you’re listening to somebody talk about the “good old days,” make sure you think about what those might have involved. If the “good old days” meant believing that communism was going to take over and rock ’n’ roll was going to poison the minds of the youth, they might be a little overrated. As for me, I’m stuck wondering about the past. If anyone finds a mad scientist and a Delorean, though, let me be the first guy you call.