It’s an odd feeling, being chagrinned by your own generation. Long ago, I traded my pie-in-the-sky idealism—as it relates to what people are like and what they are interested in—for a more realistic worldview. It all starts in middle school. Friends with interesting quirks, like double-jointed thumbs, or overactive gastrointestinal reactions to Cheez Whiz, suddenly strive to hide the very things that make them interesting. Before you know it, you’re in high school, wondering if you’re the only one who actually read Brave New World, rather than its summary on Wikipedia. Or you’re sitting in the
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