I don’t understand kids today. I’ve tried. But they are nothing like I was at their age. In my younger years, I did not swoon over effeminate beauties like Justin Bieber (we didn’t even have an equivalent in the mid-90s. We settled for a young Brad Pitt and we liked it). I did not have floppy hair. I watched black and white movies, was oddly obsessed with David Strathairn, and I really liked wearing sweater vests (it’s cool to be jealous, because I was awesome).
I was concerned about things, though. I remember that. Things like nuclear weapons and pollution and equality. Those memories of my youth, of a time when I got angry at things more substantial than some dude leaving his blind up on a plane, are what led me to Occupy Wall Street this past fall.