Dec
28
2010
[Patti Smith’s Just Kids] unfolds in that romantic time before we were swallowed by Facebook, flat screens, texts, tweets and Starbucks; when people still talked all night and listened to jukeboxes and LPs and read actual books and drank black coffee.
Few things are more deliciously ironic than seeing someone whose generation horrified its predecessors by donning tie-dye and eschewing general hygiene and dropping acid and fucking in Golden Gate Park look to her successors and admonish them for their social media and e-readers and instant messages and iTunes playlists and quad venti half-caff no-foam soy caramel frappuccinos.
