Set the Controls for the Day Before Yesterday

I’m probably remembering this wrong: Somebody once asked Theodore Sturgeon to define the Golden Age of Science Fiction and he said, “Twelve.” Which, yeah, that’s the age at which you feel simultaneously possessed of infinite potential and unbearably constricted by your immediate circumstances. And here were magazines with rocketships and women in chrome bikinis on the cover. Here were names like Asimov and Zelazny which in themselves sounded exotic and extraterrestrial. Nowadays, I don’t dream so much of space travel, and believe the best use for a reliable and accurate  time machine would be to allow me to procrastinate indefinitely.