May 14, 2012

I guess I don’t really need to explain what a hipster is. That is… unless you haven’t heard of them before.

They aren’t very obscure, and no one really likes them enough to fight about who liked them first.

But the fact is this: more and more people are becoming hipsters.

They wear their thick-framed glasses that hold no glass and do not aid the wearer in seeing at all. They wrap themselves in ironic t-shirts, ones that says things like “My other bike is also a fixed gear” or “Camp Fluffy Unicorn Camp Counselor, Summer 1987.”

Apparently, they believe that they can wear uncool clothes, listen to uncool music and do uncool things because: a) they are so cool that their coolness overrides any possible lameness that the shirt and skinny jeans and thick glasses might create, and/or b) being uncool is actually cool for some stupid reason.

That one, I love to blame on Huey Lewis.

Apparently, he’s the one that planted the seed about it being hip to be square.

Thanks for that, Huey.

Hipsters are basically the bane of my existence. They are snobby, pompous, tight-assed bastards that are incapable of having fun unless they are saying something is too mainstream for them.

If you’ve been around hipsters before, than you know exactly how frustrating they are.

For the last few years, starting about the time hipsters came into sad prominance, I’ve been cautious not to dip even the tiniest toe into the flowing, flooding blood river of Hipsterdom.

This is my problem: I don’t generally like the more popular music and books that are available. Now, I’m at the cinema at least once a week, so I see about a third of the movies that are released (usually the horror, thriller or action ones. You couldn’t pay me enough to watch the children’s movies, romantic comedies or God-awful chick flicks). So, I don’t run any risks with movies.

I just don’t like what’s on the radio. I’d rather listen to Tom Waits or Frank Zappa or Major Organ and the Adding Machine. That’s just the kind of music I enjoy.

However, the one thing that keeps me from tipping over into hipster territory is that I actually enlighten others around me to the music if they are interested.

It’s the same with books. I haven’t picked up the latest Stieg Larrson or Seth Graeme-Smith because I’d rather read James Joyce or Thomas Pychon.

And you’ll never see me thumb through a Stephenie Meyers “book,” you can count on that.

All-in-all, hipsters are giving people who enjoy arts on the fringe a bad name. They are bad people that need to be stopped.

Whoops. Better watch what I say about them. This blog is definitely small enough to garner massive, apathetic hipster attention.

I can’t wait till I am too mainstream for those bastards.



This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Ashton Cutright for letting me lampoon her so heartily in this post about hipsters.

It’s terribly simple, you know. I feel like I do it everyday.

That’s probably because I do.

Truly ghjr


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