My Mind's Not Right

Sometimes(always) I think there's not really much difference between my generation and generation X. Except maybe skinny jeans. Wait, we stole those from the 80's. Never mind, nothing's changed.

Seriously, though. One difference between us and them could be maybe that they had more money? They were the kids who grew up in the 80's, rejected their parents' values and spent their 20's in the 90's feeling disenfranchised and depressed in their high paying software jobs. Maybe. Maybe not.

The only real difference that I can see is that today we have 1.5 million more means of expressing our angst and quarter-life screams of "what am i doing?" Through twitter, youtube, tumblr, and the like we can record our angst in music, publish our angst in blogs and make youtube videos of ourselves in our rooms talking about our angst(or about britney spears). The kids of the 80's and 90's didn't have that outlet. But thing is, we're still just as anxious-even with the outlets. Maybe because of the outlets. We now have an audience who sees us in our skinny jeans, wearing our Toms shoes and wonders if we got them from Urban Outfitters or what. And we love to interact with that audience. Every 20 minutes they know what we're thinking about whatever. We like it that way.

From St. Peter with Love

If I lived in St. Petersburg, I'd live in Dostoevsky's old district. By the old haymarket where Raskolnikov killed the greedy old woman then spent 500 pages thinking and feeling sad about it. It's a semi-quiet section now, just several blocks from a bustling market of goods where John thought we'd certainly be robbed. We weren't.

I'd get extremely skinny because I'd walk everywhere. And since it's Russia and since I'm walking, I'd only take the money I absolutely needed to make it through the particular day. No wallet. No passport. Just the definite minimum needed to minimize the damage should I be robbed. And I'm certain I'd be robbed at some point.

The problem then, with this plan, is that at some point I'd be asked by a nice man in uniform to show him my passport and incredibly hard to get Visa and registration-which I of course will not have on me. I'd then be kindly escorted to a Russian prison.