A Conundrum if There Ever Was One

A guy just walked into the coffee shop I’m sitting in. He’s dressed like a hipster but he SMELLS SO GOOD.

My instincts say I should hate him, but my olfactory system is telling me I’m in love.

Life is so hard sometimes.

Photo Credit: MemeGenerator.net

Photo Credit: MemeGenerator.net

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Q: How Do You Kill a Hipster? A: Drown Him in the Mainstream.

I know there was a promise made about spilling the Kona Coffee beans re: my Hawaiian adventure–but I have to put that project on the back burner for a moment.

Because:

My boss sent me an article on an individual SO adventurous and SO daring that it put my trip to shame. Brave Henry Alfred (who, if I had my ‘druthers would be knighted if we did that sort of thing in America) went undercover into the world of the Williamsburg, Brooklyn Hipster. For those of you that don’t know what a hipster is: have you been living under a rock?! 

Actually, no. Let me not insult your intelligence–for you are far better off not knowing about this subset of young people, usually caucasian and springing from upper middle class families. But just in case you’re a masochist, here’s a photo that’ll give you a clue:

Don't judge a book by–just kidding. Judge away | Photo Credit: Google Images, Baby

Don’t judge a book by–just kidding. Judge away. | Photo Credit: Google Images: “Hipster”

ANYWAY, Sir Henry Alfred went undercover to the epicenter of the New American Hipster and lived to tell the tale. Let it be known that Portland, OR is the original homeland of the species, but Brooklyn has now fallen into the overzealous hands of the 20-something-non-comformists.

Read Lord Henry Alfred of Manhattan’s full account here before continuing on with my post.

Or, if you skipped his article, I am using some of the best quotes in the following critique. These are my thoughts on his experience and I hope never to be in his vintage shoes:

I had fallen into conversation with the affinity marketer…I guessed aloud, “So, like, if I buy a pair of shoes, then you’ll try to sell me socks?” The affinity marketer smiled and said: “Or maybe something bigger, like flooring. You buy a pair of shoes, I sell you reclaimed hardwood flooring.” Well, this kid is certainly good at selling bullshit, I’d love to see what he could do with some “vintage” lawn chairs. 

 
 When I layered the corduroy shirt over the H. W. Carter shirt, the effect was homespun and slightly raffish: a country-store clerk who has lost his spectacles in the barley.” I’ve always wanted to look like a half-blind, hick shop owner that would be less out of place in an adaptation of The Grapes of Wrath than on the streets of a major metropolitan city.

 
“Roberta’s has the ugliest entrance of any restaurant I’ve ever seen, barbed wire leading to heavily graffitied concrete cinder blocks: gulag in da hood. I waited almost an hour for a table.” I say we just throw all the hipsters in jail–same scenery, maybe better food, and they can brag to their friends that they enjoyed “prison tourism” before it was cool.
 
“This company makes it a point to wind-sail its cocoa beans from the Dominican Republic to Brooklyn, then to hand-sort these beans, then to let its chocolate “rest” 30 days before sale.” The only ‘resting’ a piece of chocolate within a 50 mile radius of me will be doing is IN MY BELLY–immediately.
 
 a collection of Ronald Reagan’s speeches, a 1993 book about the health care crisis and “Hitler Laughing: Comedy in the Third Reich. Her eyes widening, the employee called the store’s owner on her cellphone and recited the titles to him. “We can offer you two dollars for the ‘Third Reich’ one,” she soon told me. “But these other two are …” So I helped her out with, “Their resale potential is more muted.”  If I had to choose between Reagan and Hitler…well…let’s just say, she made the right choice. 
 
I know now that if the economy sours further, I can trade in all my books for herbal diuretics.” Thank GOD because I have been looking for an establishment such as this. 
 
In conclusion, this writer is a badass and I loved reading this article. However, you won’t catch me near the wilds of Williamsburg.
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Disney Hipsters--the only acceptable breed | Photo credit: hipstermemes.tumblr.com

Disney Hipsters–the only acceptable breed | Photo credit: hipstermemes.tumblr.com

Did I mention…?

That I went to Hawaii?

Yes?

I think I set y’all up for my trip in this entry,  but since then, I haven’t taken the time to brag regale you with my tale.

Did I mention that I jumped off of a waterfall?

Did I also happen to mention that I’m afraid of heights?

I don’t have time right at the moment, but BOY do I have a story for YOU (stay tuned).

Here’s a little proof:

Where's Waldo--can you see me?

Where’s Waldo–can you see me?

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A Lesson in Language and Cookies

I’ve noticed, lately, that I have a few (read: many) friends on Facebook that consider themselves “Grammar Nazis”. Horrible references to one of the most destructive and disgusting political parties aside, these people drive me insane. If I miss a comma or accidentally replace “your” with “you’re”, it seems as if my post is completely negated. Instead of commenting on the content, my little Word Wizard pals will comment on the construction of my sentences.

In a forum where my status updates are competing with a myriad of cat photos and Sponge Bob Memes, I’d think it’d be safe to make a few grammatical errors here and there.

Which got me to thinkin’.

Which, if you know me, can be dangerous.

No danger, here, though, because I recalled a blog written by The Wonderful Joe Kessler, Ph.D. student, University at Buffalo, Linguistics.  He’s someone I follow on Twitter and also happen to know personally. Give that link a click and you’ll be directed to his Tumblr which has saved me from internet boredom more than once.

Over on Joe’s Linguistics Blog, I saw a post that instantly piqued my interest. As an English major I, of course, love words but even more than that, I love COOKIES.

This post had both. And it also validated my feelings re: language and the liberties that I often take with it:

“Imagine you have a favorite recipe for making cookies. You learned it from your grandmother, and you have always made cookies this way. You think they’re the best dessert in the world, and people regularly compliment you on them when you bring them to parties. You understandably take great pride in your baking — but would you insult someone else’s cookies, or denounce their recipe as illegitimate?

One hopes the answer would be no, but people take this attitude towards other people’s language every single day. As I’ve argued before, anything that someone says or writes on purpose is a correct use of language, just like every cookie recipe out there is a correct use of baking. Unfortunately, some uses of language are often considered incorrect, and I think there are two main reasons for that.”

Do yourself a favor and click over to his page and read this post in its entirety. And if you are a member of the group that I mentioned above, do me a favor and step off of my prose, son!

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