From the concrete jungles of Brook-nam:
So, a recent conversation had me thinking about my days in Europe and the numerous poli-cultural questions asked of me while I was over there. Naturally, the French had no idea just how far Texas is from Massachusetts--both literally and figuratively--nor did they care, for that matter. (France, btw: 211,207 square miles. Texas: 268,601 square miles.) Accordingly, they felt little compunction when it came to making sweeping generalizations about Americans. I tried on occasion to describe the States as something between a département and an autonomous country and Americans as loyal state residents who often hold little in common with each other--citizenship and language notwithstanding. Some frogs got it; many more did not. For the latter group, an American was an American: all the chicks had fake blond hair and chunky asses; all the guys wore Nikes and baseball caps.
The memories from France came back when I caught some CO residents offguard with the term hipster.
Me: I don't care if it is a Vespa; I wouldn't be caught dead on a scooter.
Girl1: What's wrong with scooters?
Me: This isn't Brooklyn and I'm not a hispter.
Girl1: So you're not cool enough to ride one?
Me: Hipsters aren't cool--no matter what they may think.
Girl2: So why are they called hipsters?
Me: Who the fuck knows.
Girl1: Well who would you call a hipster?
Me: I don't know.... people who like Sleater-Kinney or the Killers.
Girl2: I like the Killers.
Me: You would.
Girl2: [handicapped noises]
Me: Well, you don't wear eye makeup and you're not wearing a wife beater, so why would I call you a hipster?
Girl1: That's how they dress in Brooklyn?
Me: The women? Yes. And they ride the L.
Girl2: What?
Me: And they smoke cigarettes but eat organic food.
Girl2: Weird.
Me: That's what I'm sayin'. Go to the Cobrasnake dot com if you want to see them in action.
Girl1: What's that?
Me: A website with a bunch of photos from a dude who hangs out with Devon Aoki's brother.
Girl1: Who's Devon Aoki?
Me: The cute Asian chick with the fake French accent in D.E.B.S.
Girl1: Ok...what's D.E.B.S.?
Me: A ridiculous movie about lesbians. Jordana Brewster. [quick raise of the eyebrows]
Girl2: Is she a hipster?
Me: No... thank God.
I guess the point of the story is that even we sometimes don't know who we are. I mean, how many of you out there know what a guilder is?
To learn more about the hipster infestation of Williamsburg and elsewhere, please check out this site and ask youself, "Do I have hipsters?"
Big up to Kent Ave, btw.
This entry was posted
on Monday, April 24, 2006 at 1:49 PM.
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Coucou-
Lawyers aren’t all just stuffed shirts, I’m an authority on that lot. Do you know what area of law you’re most interested in, yet?
Judge Hand – thought for certain you were really having one over on me – thank God for Wikipedia. I dig his eyebrows. Did you know he had a cousin, Judge A. Noble Hand? Damn it! Why couldn’t those examples go into my post on names that are self-fulfilling prophecy? You’ve been holding out on me.
Adore cheek. Even like to be teased, so one needn’t feel restricted, but I also love the straight shooter, ab imo pectore.
Best to refrain from the word hate altogether, I’ve grown a bit superstitious that way. Hating others is hating a part of ourselves we don’t like to admit. I felt that way about my mater, and quite deeply for a time, though she gave me ample reason. Don’t feel that way at all now, tho’ she vex me some on occasion. If I hadn’t sorted through that I’d be half a person, so I not only agree with your words, they touch me greatly. You’re a thoughtful sort. It’s important to make amends with your kin, old lovers, broken friendships, if you both are able. You don’t have to walk off into the sunset together, but to lose someone with that undone is much more painful. Death is a mean old thief, you are right. I have very many more things to write about Him, though I go back and forth with myself over the “correctness” of writing the things I do quasi-publicly.
It’s an expression of love to help guide people you love, but you must be very careful. Love them just as they are too, though some of us have quite the opposite problem of being too accepting of the flaws of others, and to our own detriment. Ultimately, I think we are here to uplift others – that is true power, and it never seems to happen through condemnation. Then, when you arrive at the idea of romance, you know, falling for the “wrong people” vs. this idea of the perfect healthy mate, you’ve got the same problem in a new form. Sometimes I think we were put here specifically to help each other struggle through something serious. It’s not a light hearted view, but when I see the self-help peddlers swearing you can find a seamless mate if you’ll only love yourself enough, I think they must be floating in a narcissistic bubble. All relationships sometime, somewhere, bring you face to face with the ugliness. The trick is to not be afraid and commit to a willingness to face those things. Then you get back to the beauty, on the other side. No one is truly attractive to you and loved by you until you go through that with them. I haven’t found the person who will travel through that with me yet. Maybe that’s why the medieval romances were so concerned with dragon slaying, it’s a key to love.
There I go, being so lyric again. Forgive me.
But the real question is, why do I tell you these things? Probably because you use words like “recant.” I also love “cant.” Such a little word to carry so many meanings.
When you write of the pernicious platypus, be certain to mention his poisonous spur. What a complicated little creature, et si nuisible. A bientôt.
Female Black Widow Spider vs. Male Duck Billed Platypus. THAT's a movie. If they did it with Freddy and Jason, Alien and Predator...
My money's on the spider, "Cherchez la femme." And about that marsupial's cumbersome name - why include "duck-billed"? Is there any other kind?
Check your inbox. If something I sent cha isn't there, I'd surely like to know about it.
With what, exactly, did you rule your playground?
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