Bloggers, this weekend I broke a pact I made with myself. On friday, I went to a Karaoke place with a bunch of hipster doofuses. My friend Chris coaxed me into going to it, promising good times as we would sing the karaoke classics, i.e. Hall and Oates and Abba. So we met up with these supposedly "cool" folk, who live in Brooklyn. Brooklyn is an ugly place, filled with the vainest of the vain, who celebrate their youth and good health by drinking on the rooftops (ooh New York) and basking in their own apathetic beliefs and name-dropping cultured attitude, which amounts to this repeatable phrase: "Oh, you like ____? Have you ever heard of ______? Yeah, _____ is awesome, because (why you should like _____). Yes, it would certainly seem that these hipsters gt along marvelously by virtue of their whacky haircuts and brightly colored uniforms, and their uniformed opinions and tastes, as well. But, that's fine. Spending a night with people you don't like or know is reason to stay in, and the prospect of staying in is reason enough to spend a night with people you don't like. Such is the duality of our existence.
So we went there, and goddamn if I didn't spend all night on the couch staring at these self absorbed, empty souls with their eyes glued to the screen that read the lyrics to them. I paid 21 dollars for the strange feeling of confusion and disgust that this exercise in faux-celebrity derangement brought me. At one point, I got to the front of the room with my friend, grabbed the microphone from the ground, and was accosted by a hipster, who snatched the microphone out of my hand, and turned without saying another word. Such is the attitude of this strange movement in the youth of today, that one need not have any accountability for one's own actions, and yet one may judge another from a merciless and unrelenting standpoint. Perhaps this is not merely an issue of today, but one that transcends all time. I dunno.
So the next day, I met up with my parents before they left for Ireland, the mother country. I met them at Washington Square, and we walked to a pizza place. But, not just any pizza place. Otto's Fancy Pizzareia, home of the unrecognizable Italian meat toppings! I ordered a goat cheese and asparagus pie, Pops ordered some pasta, and Moms ordered an anchovie and olive pie. They brought these fancy small pies, which were very fine, though not as fine as the dripping, hot and sweaty mass of cheese and tomato sauce that I am used to.
After lunch, I walked back to the park and perused the selection of books that a shirtless and bearded man had presented on the sidewalk. There, I picked up three books. CHECK IT:
The Death of Ivan Ilytch by Leo Tolstoy
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Three Tragedies by Frederico Garcia Lorca.
After that, I went back to the Bronx. That's all I have to say for now. So long, all.
7 comments:
Jake,
you really need to blogg more than once a week! For everyones sake.
if there is one thing we understand , it's the comment about the vanity of the New Yorker.
Iv'e never met people anywhere else who seem to need to use their location as a crutch to lean on to describe themselves and how superior they are to all others on the planet. It's like they inhale it and blow their egos up with it and take it with them for the rest of their lives to bring up when they feel less than.
We have met countless individuals who have needed to make it known that they were from NY and that NY has the best this and the best that and you havent had this or that unless youve had it from NY, right down to the New York minute.
Worse than the New Yorker in general, is the Italian from NY. with their fresh mozerell(pronounced with their fake italian accents), how tough they are blah blah blah.
I love NY
you forgot the italians from new york that have shirts that say italian stallion
Am I the only one that doesn't have or want an Italian Stallion shirt I'm not from New York though.
THe italian stallion is Rocky Balboa, and he is philly to the core, baby. Our boy Rocky wouldn't touch NY with a ten foot pole.
It's so sad that Philadelphia's greatest sports hero is a fictional character...
But that'll all change when the Eagles win the Super Bowl this year!
From now on filter the words 'this year' to 'never, ever, ever' when referring to the Eagles and their winning of the super bowl 'this year'.
Did anyone hear something?
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