Sometime between the invention of laundry detergent and 2013, some salesman got the idea that things should never grow old. So he started going around telling everyone to trash their TVs and iPods and grandmothers, preaching that it was time to move on to flat screens, microchips, and sexy supermodels. He was so good at what he did that everyone got in on it, and they all started tossing their raggle-taggle furniture, black-and-white photos, and other such rags of sentimental rubbish out into the streets, replacing them with shiny, polished windows and cherry-wood floors. But eventually they got tired of their polished windows and cherry-wood floors, so one day the salesman came back and told them that polished windows and cherry-wood floors was so yesterday, but no worries, he had spanking-new recyclable plastic-hybrid windows and stainless steel floors on the assembly line.
So everyone ditched their "old" things and got it all replaced again, but unfortunately that got old too, so they replaced it again, till that got old, until their stuff was getting old so fast that they were replacing them as soon as they opened the box. But by that time that clever, sneaky salesman had already emigrated from the country, having gone back through the streets to collect all the old garbage that nobody wanted and smuggled them into Hong Kong to sell them at ridiculous prices. In the meantime the rest of the world was in a wild frenzy to pitch the latest alarm clock before it started collecting dust.
The parable of the salesman is a true one, but for some reason no one can remember what the man's name was or where he is now. But I don't think anyone cares at this point. At this point, I don't think anyone remembers what it's like to remember things at all.