Via Metafilter (as usual) I came across an article from a Russian alt-weekly called The eXile. The title of the article is "That '70s Sham: 90 Reasons to Hate the 90s," and it's hilarious.

Here are some of my favorite reasons to hate the 90s, as authored by Mark Ames and Jake Rudnitsky (apologies for quoting so much). I wholeheartedly agree. These reasons to hate make me happy.

16. Guys wearing ski caps in warm weather

The Sham: In one of the most counter-intuitive and least comfortable fashions since men wore iron corsets in Tutor England, knit ski-caps were all the rage in the 90s. Not during cold snaps, mind you, but even in Los Angeles. In the heat. Kids coast to coast representing every subculture from raver to grunge to Phish-head to hip-hop trapped their head-heat all summer long to prove their youth-ness. That's called suffering for your art. Does this mean period pieces about the 90s a few years from now, starring Glenn Close and John Malkovich in a ski cap?

65. Prague

The Sham: Somehow it was decided that Prague was to the 90s what Paris was to the 20s. Why we don't know - Paris of the 20s was only that in retrospect, no one knew it would be an era in-advance, but somehow Prague was already that before the first black-turtleneck-totin' free-versers Delta Airlined it into town. Prague was crammed to the gills with so many alienated American bohemians per square meter that it looked like a spawning ground for the eccentric-in-training set, yet it didn't produce a single memorable book, poem, song, artwork, film, even joke or quip or statement on our condition, all that in an entire decade of trying. Which is a might achievement in the annals of mediocrity, and the one mitigating factor (imagine if a great book really did come out of Prague - that would really sting).

89. Blue collar chic

The Sham: Middle class guys picking up garage mechanic uniforms with cursive names sewn into the breast pocket at the local thrift store and slumming it. Then, while downing cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon for a buck a pop at the local hipster dive, peopled with other indy hipsters wearing Confederate hats or T-shirts and scraggly beards, they'd talk about this art instillation they've got planned for their studio in Williamsburg.

There are a million eighty-seven more of these over at The eXile, so go read 'em.