Dear 19-year-old me,
As you read this, you’re smoking a potpourri of sticks-and-stems you got from a sketchbag named Ferraro. You are elated because you think you have acquired some primo shit. You are woefully incorrect, but don’t worry. It gets better.
Many years from today you will move to California to the Golden Age of Convenience. It’s a remarkable time. You will order black cabs on things called “smartphones” because cabs are criminally inexpensive (perhaps literally). Napster is gone, but don’t worry about it because you will “stream” everything including TV. Oh, and TV is much, much better(!) and movies are way worse and mostly in 3D. A Spiderman movie is coming out soon. Don’t watch the second one though. Or the third. Or the first reboot. Or the second reboot.
What else… You won’t need to read newspapers anymore—because of something called Twitter—and you won’t want to read about politics anymore, because of something called Facebook.
But NONE OF THAT IS IMPORTANT because in this Golden Age, you can get a prescription for medical marijuana on a website. It’s stupidly easy. You log in, check a few boxes, pays yer money, and you will get approved in less time than it took to write this time-traveling letter. A card will arrive in the mail a few days later and it’s 4:20. Dude, I know.
Oh, and we have “hoverboards” but they are not nearly as cool as you think.
P.S. Lose the soul patch.