Oh, to have been young in the 1920's.
I could have gone to Paris. I could have written the great American novel.
Growing up when I did, everything was pre-packaged for me. There is no adventure left, save maybe for warfare, and even that's not available to me "at my age."
Re-reading books from Thompson and Fitzgerald, I realize how small our world has become, how circumscribed, and I weep at the thought there's nothing left worth doing.