A tall girl wearing stretch pants and a big tee shirt walked up to me after a lecture last week and said, “I wish I was a teenager in the 90′s”. I responded with, “No, really, you don’t.” Part of my cringe reaction was because I would hate for a new generation of artists to get stuck in the ‘Martyr Artist vs. Fucker Businessman’ binary like I did. Especially since this particular rut seems to disproportionately affect progressive people. I guess seeing our dreams of liberation turn into dollar signs made us uber sensitive to the fact that we could, at some point, end up participating in the same old necrophilic drama. This fear left many of us walking around creepily denying we had any ambition at all.