Oh Dear Lord We're Becoming the Internet

Is the Internet making us dumber, a nation of ignoramuses, eventual patsies for the rise of our computer overlords? Are we outsourcing our brain functions to the machines that live on our desks, and is this outsourcing not even bothering us. That's the thesis of Robert Carr's widely read article, "Is Google Making Us Stupid?", anyway. According to Carr, his constant Internet use is chipping away at his "concentration and contemplation." Carr suspects (with plenty of evidence) that we as humanity are actually being reprogrammed by the Internet, programmed away from the lengthy books that we’ve contented ourselves with for the past few millennia. At the end of his essay, Carr arrives at the source of his discomfort with Google's attempt at creating an "artificial intelligence":

It suggests a belief that intelligence is the output of a mechanical process, a series of discrete steps that can be isolated, measured, and optimized. In Google’s world, the world we enter when we go online, there’s little place for the fuzziness of contemplation. Ambiguity is not an opening for insight but a bug to be fixed. The human brain is just an outdated computer that needs a faster processor and a bigger hard drive.

Therefore, Google is sapping us of our ingrained contemplation and reasoning power and replacing

According to Peter Suderman at the American Scene, however, Google may be doing the opposite: it may be making us smart The Internet may indeed be teaching us to think like it does - but is that necessarily a bad thing? To quote:

Reading on the web is almost certainly affecting the way we process information, but it’s not making us stupid. Instead, it’s changing the way we’re smart. Rather than storehouses of in-depth information, the web is turning our brains into indexes. These days, it’s not what you know — it’s what you know you can access, and cross reference.

So instead of making us stupider, the internet is making us smarter in a different way, changing us from encyclopedias to comprehensive indexes. Therefore, we may simply need to change our definition of what an intelligent person is. Instead of putting up a smart person as someone who can summon up the kings of Poland back 400 years or the subspecies of lemur or whatever, we might have to start being impressed by the person who can find the salient information the fastest, a society where brilliant Google-fu will become more important then total recall. Concentration and contemplation may start to lose their import, as uncomfortable as that sounds to us now. Deep reading and contemplation may begin to lose out to wider (and shallower) skimming. But odds are good we will know more stuff on the whole.

People who have an ability to both find the stuff and aggregate it will, then, be at a serious advantage in the future. Fast readers and thinkers used to have a leg up in the past, but I think they’ll have an even stronger foothold now – after all, the most successful bloggers spend their entire working day scouring the web for info, contemplating it,and putting up real time analysis and opinion. As Sunderman points out, making connections between material and adding to the universal index and cataloguing the world’s information will become of imperative importance – simply absorbing a whole lot of information will no longer be “enough”. Old school rumination may lose out to online consensus building, collection, and contextualizing – but is that necessarily going to ruin us all? We used to “become” books and think like they did: now we are quite literally “becoming” the Internet.

Newsweek’s new model, interestingly enough,is a sort of capitulation to the new speed of journalism – they’ve decided to focus more on in-depth analysis and less on reporting simply what happened. Let’s see how their model works for the future of print journalism. Will people be willing to divide their time between shallow and instant information and deep analysis? Or will people simply pick one?

I also take umbrage with Carr’s belief that the internet somehow stifles ambiguity and contemplation. I’d argue the opposite. We’re now able to access pretty much any information we might possibly want at any time. I don’t know about you, but I think that that sort of access has increased the quality of my contemplation. Further, if we’re talking ambiguity and fuzziness, I think being allowed access to pretty much every possible side and aspect of an argument actually increases our ability to see the all-important grey area. (Of course, this precludes some convincing arguments that people simply use the Internet to read about stuff they already agree with.)

Still, there’s gotta be some drawbacks to trusting all our knowledge to the internet. There’s always the chance that the internet could be destroyed or temporarily knocked out, bringing some future generations internet-centralized knowledge crashing down to earth with it. I do not think the model of being Internet or index smart only is in any way sustainable as the world is now: the internet’s penetration into most of the world is still incomplete or vague, and even my high-speed connection goes down inexplicably now and again. We’ll need to be pretty much certain the internet can 1. reach us all and 2. is extremely reliable, like turning the light on, before we can rely upon it for most of our knowledge and chuck a lot of the hard memorization our educational system currently relies upon.

I don’t think it is possible to retard the flow of thinking-via-internet vs. thinking via-books. My generation is already pretty finely tuned to getting our information via internet indexes, and future generations will only be more so. We’re simply going to have to figure out how we can most effectively blend stationary information and mobile/internet based information. And I don’t think we’ll have to chuck out ambiguity and contemplation in the pursuit of knowing more and knowing better.

my generation is comprised of academic whores and i am all the same

We're whores, whores!


We have, I am afraid, been lied to.

Let me begin with some context. My generation, on the whole, is really lousy at rebellion. We (of course I refer to the upper middle class) were raised by Baby Boomers with a bottomless tolerance for pretty much anything: we had nothing to rebel against, and if we did rebel, we’d look irrefutably stupid. We decided early on that the Man was okay and would produce for us, and therefore we bought into The System hook line and sinker, placed all our bets on the Achievotron, the mechanics of American success.

AP exams, endless homework, ceaseless jockeying for Ivy League positions, we did it all, 110% certain that our freakish work ethics and desire to Change the World. We were certain that our inherent uniqueness, the specialness our parents had assured us we carried within us from birth onward, would give us all we wanted and more would allow us to become Captains of Industry and Titans of Philanthropy. We believed all this.

And then the economy broke, fell flat on its face, and the path was not so clear anymore. Uh oh.

So what are we, my generation, us bright eyed and bushy-tailed Generation Y’ers to do about this whole terrible mess? We could, it is true, simply buckle down and work harder, become resolute in our ambition to bust our asses as hard as Asian kids do every day, to throw ourselves on our knees before the idols of Kaplan, Hah-vad and college admissions boards everywhere to deliver us, oh please.

Or we could, for once, try a little rebellion, a little freedom, a little peace n’ love. Most of all, I think my generation could use a little healthy, positive, cynicism. It don't take a genius to see that the advice us Generation Y'ers has been given our entire lives is in fact total BS - that working hard and punching the ticket and volunteering with sick African children will not earn us meaningful careers and repute and Wikipedia entries. We are, we are now forced to admit, living in a world that does not find us special and often even finds us expendable. We as young people, as Generation Y, are going to need to reset our expectations. We are going to have to adapt to a less glittery future, or we will go completely insane. What form will that adaption take?

















They knew how to rebel! They smelled bad and failed geometry and they didn't even care!

There are some good options. Our predecessors in youthful rebellion – look at Generation X, look at our own parents – seemed to do quite well with cynicism and distrust for the elder generation. Perhaps we must regard our own parents and authority figures with a gimlet eyeball, demand more of them, refuse to roll over and do what they say because they said it.We should listen to what the sixties idols (whose music we adore) are talking about, perhaps get a little of that anarchist and rebellious spirit – not that these movements really made the world any better, but they at least declared independence, freed their adherents from believing every cotton picking thing authorities and parents told them was good and true. As a helicopter parented and independence deprived generation, we are going to have to man up, we are going to have to cut the umbilical cord and separate ourselves from our parents encompassing petticoats and find our own path – because the system we bought into, it is evident, is not going to provide for us any longer.

And if the demise of that system means we are not all going to be able to become hot-shot bankers or heroic philanthropists or environmental lawyers, then we are going to have to accept it. There are more ways to make a living on this earth then glamour positions. There are more ways to be happy and successful then punching the ticket, toeing the line, and following the career track to its bitter (and now uncertain) end. And we, Generation Y, are going to have to accept that, embrace it.

I'm going to try to do what I can to deal, and I suggest that you, my poor and startled twenty-something counterparts, try to do the same. I think it is good advice. I do not know if I will be able to take it.













Oh Jack, you oddly bewitching bloated alcoholic, we need ya!

But it's so hard. We do care. Look at my story. I've driven myself to the brink of total and complete wack-job behavior in my college career, all in an effort to secure the almighty 4.0. When I was in high school, I had myself convinced I wouldn't be beholden to the almighty Achieve-O-Tron when I was 15 and on a really obnoxious Jack Kerouac kick. Of course, that was wishful thinking, By my junior year of high school, I had totally bought into it. I did community service and obsessed about the right schools and had happy contemplative thoughts about nice careers and accolades in interesting magazines.

By the time I hit college, I was totally inducted into the cult: after a bit of mild partying, I buckled down, certain that if I got anything less then A’s in all my classes that I would be rejected from all possible graduate schools, end up in a dead end job, and would witness plagues of locusts, toads, and blood. By the end of my time at Simon’s Rock, my first college, I was in such an achievement-whore state that I would become hysterical with fear upon checking my grades, would almost lick the feet of my professors in an effort to get an A, torpedoed my social life in the name of flash cards and paper-writing and overall intellectual development. It was no way to live, not for a pay off that was abstract then and seems so much more abstract now. I was a total mess by the time I left the Rock, but I had a 4.0 in hand, and I figured things might be all right.
















I was going to stay in India and drive one of these. True story.

I almost did it: I almost broke free of it all last year, when I was working in India. Unlucky circumstances almost (ironically) freed me up forever. My transfer application to the University of California system, which I had almost entirely betted on, was rendered completely useless by a screw up on my guidance counselors part. I discovered I had been rejected from every school I applied to from an internet café in Bangalore, and, as you might expect, freaked out completely. Despite the 12 hour time difference, I wrote groveling letters to the UC’s admissions board, rallied my favorite professors to write letters on my behalf, hoping against hope that the UC’s would reconsider.

Nope: the math class I had taken (in belief that it would transfer) was Required At All Costs, and therefore, my perfect grades and perfect extracurriculurs and perfect shit-eating little grin would not be permitted to attend any UC campuses (thank you very much). I was devastated.

And then I started thinking. I realized these things:

1: The USA educational system had, despite all my hard work, had, in essence, told me to take a hike, had made irrefutably clear that my specialness was, sadly, simply not Special Enough.

2.: There really was no compelling reason to go back to school, or even back to the United States. (They had all rejected me, I had by proxy rejected them, and anyway many great writers didn’t even go to college, it was true).

3. Perhaps specialness, overachievement, and punching the ticket were not all there was to life. Perhaps my life in Bangalore – containing, as it did, long evenings at disreputably reputable nightclubs, mysterious seafood curries, and general high adventure was better then what I had left behind.

I was almost ready to stay in India. I suspected it would be easy to find work as a night club promoter or luxury hotel employee in town – I knew people who knew people – and living expenses were next to nothing on the Subcontinent. I could make a new life there. I might never have to go back. I could, at least theoretically, snag myself an Indian real estate maven, have a tremendous wedding involving white elephants, and divest myself of all learning for the rest of my life. These were all possible .

But I was not brave enough to break away, not yet. I played my last card: I applied to Tulane University in New Orleans at the very last minute primarily because I still could and because I have ancestral routes in the Big Easy. I was astonished to find I had been awarded not only admission but a hefty partial scholarship. I moved to New Orleans.

I like Tulane, and I like New Orleans. Tulane has been good to me, and I’ve been able to explore my interests, meet interesting people, and take engaging (and small) classes. On the whole my college nightmare, such at it was, has worked out nicely. But still I wonder.

For I am still a grades whore, a sniveler, a desperate adherent to the cult of Achieving Shit. I still go into minor fits when a teacher sends out the wrong homework or I get a question wrong on a test, and my heart still drops twelve feet into my stomach (are hearts above stomachs, or stomachs above hearts – by the way?) when I find I cannot understand some scrap of material. I was ready to break away but I did not do it, and I find that I am still as much of a slave to the Achieve-O-Tron seems as far away and impossible as it did before. But I know I have to do it. I know I should do it. I should start caring less.

But to walk away from the Achieve-O-Tron is in essence impossible: when I think of doing so I think of working in a McDonalds and being terrifically bored for the rest of my existence. But of course that is not really the case; of course you can survive and do exceedingly well sans Ivy League degree and multiple awards. I will try as hard as I possibly can to believe this and act on it, and, fellow Young People of America, I hope you will do the same. It’s about the only way I can see out of this, about the only way we’re going to be able to to keep our sanity and our wits about us. I hope we’re up to the challenge.

california ungovernable (surprise), transsexual childrens, riaa lawsuits ahoy

Is California Impossible to Govern? - The Economist



According to this editorial, California's troubles may be bigger then we think: hell, we may be ungovernable. California's direct government system, two-thirds rule. and profoundly bizarre districts have turned the sunshine state into America's most sterling cluster-fuck, with the worst bond rate of the 50 states and a 42 billion dollar gap in revenue and spending. Arnie, meanwhile, spends much of time promulgating dire results if the ballot measures don't pass: fling open the prison doors! Sell our children to Thailand! Turn Yosemite into a Chinese mall!

I love my state, but it's impossible *not* to conclude that we're in serious trouble. I suggest we seriously considering splitting up into Hippie California and Silicon California and make the problem a little bit smaller. I'm certain 2/3rds would vote for that - right? Right?



14 Most Ridiculous Suits Filed by the RIAA and MPAA - Brainz.orgc

Brainz explores the most bone-ass stupid lawsuits put forth by the RIAA and MPAA, including measures targeting a 42 year old senior mother who didn't know how to use file sharing software, a retired dyslexic schoolteacher who could barely email, a 12 year old, and a homeless guy. Real nice, guys, real nice. The RIAA and MPAA claimed in December that they have stopped putting forth lawsuits to individuals, but apparently that may also be a bucket o' lies as well: according to this Wired article, the lawsuits are alive and well. (The RIAA claims the lawsuits were "already in the pipeline," which doesn't strike me as very compelling - how many cases do they have in the pipeline?)

My objection to the RIAA's behavior isn't so much for their reaction to music pirating - it is illegal - but the ridiculously excessive nature of their claims. Whacking someone for $600,000 dollars for downloading a few movies is simply obscene - and if the RIAA really wants to stop file sharing and convincing people it's bad news, they shouldn't make themselves look absolutely ridiculous in the process. Let's hope the RIAA's claim to change the course of their anti-file sharing strategy will hold water.


Omaha Boy to Live Publicly As a Girl - KETV

An Omaha family has decided to allow their 8 year old son to live publicly as a girl - drawing the ire of his Catholic school. Although the school hasn't outwardly said that allowing a boy to live as a girl sorta squicks them out, they have claimed that "having the child attend the school for three years as a boy, and then presenting as a girl would not be a good learning environment for the child or other students." I can just see a parent suing the school because that goddamn trannie made it impossible for little Bobbie to learn long division. As for the child in question, she/he is pretty happy about the decision: she notes, "“Now I can wear nail polish, get rid of all my boy clothes and not worry about that name."

I think it's kind of a fascinating cultural sea change that parents seem to be accepting transgender kids, rather then attempting to "change" them or sweep them under the proverbial carpet. Still, parents should (and I imagine do) understand that a kid is facing a pretty difficult road ahead if they choose to present as transgender early on - although sex-change surgeries are getting more advanced and are beginning to be done earlier. I wonder how long it'll take before transsexualism is accepted to the extent homosexuality is? (Not being an identified gay kid is a safe road to travel either, but its onset does tend to happen after puberty, unlike transsexualism...)

Journalism Reimagined, Circus Freaks, And Other Fun

Ye Olde Journalist

Pay Walls Alone Won't Save Newspapers - NYTimes

The newspaper industry is once again making noises about making customers pay for content: even Grand Poobah Richard Murdoch claims free online papers are a "malfunctioning" business. That may be the case, but as Eric Pfanner points out, that doesn't mean people will pony up if pay walls are reinstated - as was found back in the day when all online papers were paysites (remember that?) most people just went elsewhere for news. Pfanner argues that newspaper might want to take a page from the music industry playbook, which is now packaging song catalogs with broadband and mobile phone services. Could newspaper content be packaged with other tasty delicious incentives and thereby make a buck or two?

I say maybe, but those incentives and those packages are going to have to be pretty bitching awesome to get people to shell out for them. If papers are able to band together with magazines and other media outlets to create cool, attractive, and valuable content that can be packaged as a whole, then more power to them - but I currently have little faith in these old media outlets ability to recognize what new media consumers actually give a rat's ass about. Special subscriber-only photos of Paul Krugman's nose-hairs aren't going to cut it.

Still, the prospect of the internet being turned into a pay-to-play service is a really distressing one. What I (and I presume most people) adore about the internet is its totally egalitarian nature -the internet handily allows anyone with a computer and a connection to access the vast majority of the species knowledge, news, and entertainment nearly instantly. This is absolutely revolutionary, a mind blowing boon in human history (indeed, I think we do not appreciate it enough,) and I believe the preservation of this freedom and openeness must be preserved at all costs.

Will this freedom come at the price of the old media outlets, who (despite their antiquity) produce good, professional content? Hard to say and difficult to answer. The optimist in me hopes we can find a solution that will preserve both. The pessimist hopes that citizen journalists will be able to fill the gap the newspapers will leave - and I don't have a hell of a lot of hope in that, either.


The Human Marvels

Have you ever found yourself wondering, secretly and perversely, what it would be like to attend one of those circus-freak shows of long ago? What it might be like to tweak the curling mustache of the Bearded Lady and compare your own height to that of Tom Thumb, to pretend to be aghast beyond belief at the Elephant Man (rendition 300) and ply the Fat Lady with salami? Was that only me?

I am exceedingly embarassed. In any case, if you do share that particular affection, you must visit the Human Marvels website, which provides interesting, skillfully writing, and fascinatingly human profiles of the circus freaks that populate our history. Many of the so-called freaks lived rather epic lives: Mademoiselle Gabrielle, the "half woman" married three men and led on many others with her shapely half-a-body, while the one foot tall plus change Pauline Musters became an acrobat, accomplished performer, and fashionista toast of New York for a glittering (if brief) period.

Perhaps most impressive of all was the career of the midget Lord Minimus, member of the court of King Charles - a tough as nails little bastard whose exploits included capture by pirates, killing a man who impugned his honor in a duel, and commanding cavalry in raids orchestrated by Prince Rupert.

Check out this video of the magnificient Viking Giant, once the world's tallest man (and a dude with a more robust constitution then poor Mr. Robert Ladlow).

Also: Most Spiders on a Human Body.
Industrious Aussie child Thomas Buchanan lies in a box and has 125 golden orb spiders put upon his bare chest. I am, admittedly, more impressed that such a record category as Most Spiders on a Human Body exactly exists, but props Tom, all the same. I kind of would like to break the record myself however since I happen to really quite like spiders, even the huge ones that eat birds and wayward toddlers.

pot pies from hades and the Butt Tree

Food Companies Placing the Onus for Safety on Consumers - NYTimes

Afraid of contracting deadly pathogens from your convenient frozen pot pie? Sucks to be you: food producers are deciding that they'd rather place the responsibility for food safety on the consumers then on themselves. As companies scramble to keep down food costs and exploit global resources, the food supply chain is becoming convoluted: meaning many food producers find it essentially impossible to pinpoint where, exactly, their ingredients are coming from. (Almaty? Azer-baijan? A Szechuan whorehouse? Mercury? It could be anywhere.) Food makers such as Con Agra and General Mills are now advising consumers to cook their frozen pizzas and pot pies in a conventional oven rather then in their microwave: terrible news for microwave sellers and cubicle slaves everywhere.

Experts aren't convinced consumers are ready to take on responsibility for frozen food safety: according to Dr. Michael T. Osterholm, director of the Center for Infectious Disease Research and Policy at the University of Minnesota, “I do not believe that it is fair to put this responsibility on the back of the consumer, when there is substantial confusion about what it means to prepare that product."

In simpler terms: consumers are dumb as spit and will no doubt continue to kill themselves with zap-able pot pies unless the corporations step up. I agree, Mr. Osterholm, I agree.



Did They Have Obese People A Zillion Years Ago? - Slate.com


Computer says, "Eh, probably not". In an era where getting food involved searching for hard to obtain berries or spearing bad-tempered mammoths to death, getting enough calories to develop Orson Welle's-like bodily dimensions was in essence impossible. The recently discovered Venus figurine may look obese to our eyes, but it's suspected she simply had Steatopygia - a large deposit of fat in the heiney regions. This was considered dead sexy in the calorie deprived, pre-Kate Moss millennia, and that's probably why the sculptor created the figure.

When did the miracle of obesity begin? Probably around 12,000 B.C when humanity started settling down and developing farms, complex society, writing, and hissy-fits in the Fertile Crescent of Mesopotamia. Greatly increased food production and a sedentary life style, along with a huge uptick in carbohydrate intake, probably produced history's first obese people.

Speaking of Hottentot Venus's and Steatopygia, I present to you the Butt Tree.

Yes, I am 12 and a half years old and I like potato chips and dogs and television and boys are icky.

But not butts. Butts are endlessly hysterical. Butts are funny today and will be funny tomorrow. I am convinced people began making butt jokes around the same time that we gained command of language. In 10 million years people will be making butt jokes, unless we lose our butts in the process of evolution. And a great and marvelous thing will be forever lost.

And in the category of Trees With Deeply Uncomfortable Anatomical Assocations, I present to you what may only be termed the Dong Tree:


It was commonly believed during Ye Olden Days that witches would steal men's penises and put them in trees, where, presumably, the scorned eunuchs could not climb up and retrieve them. This 13th century Tuscan mural portrays 25 penises complete with testicles, wafting gently in the breeze among an attractive spray of leaves. The mural is thought to be an early political ad: the Guelph faction, campaigning against the Ghibellines, wanted to infer that witches would take over and put penises up trees (metaphorically) if allowed power. I am still mildly shocked that this particular gambit was not used by Sarah Palin in our most recent election.

kind of bloop, zhao ziyang tells all hot hot, cricket ruins sex

In Secret Memoir, a Rare Look Inside China's Politics - NYTimes

This is pretty amazing: Zhao Ziyang, the now deceased chief of the Chinese Communist party, has had his memoirs released to the world. The secret memoir expresses Ziyang's refusal to crack down on students in the 1989 Tiananmen tragedy, ensuring his expulsion from the Party and the house arrest he was forced to live under until his 2005 death. Ziyang also claims that he pushed the opening of China's economy hard without the support of his party cohorts, including Deng Xiaoping, who generally gets much of the credit for allowing China to go out and play on the free market. The book, “Prisoner of the State: The Secret Journal of Premier Zhao Ziyang,” will be released in the USA on May 19th. Think this will be a must read.

Score In Your Sex Life During IPL - Times of India

Yes, cricket can force Indian women into tragic lives bereft of sex and companionship. Have no fear - the Times of India is here to explain the unfortunate phenomenon and offer solutions. (Develop your own goddamn hobbies). Perhaps the inherent and vast boringness of cricket should be used as a handy contraceptive.

(I still retain scarring memories of having to feign interest in cricket during Bangalore social gatherings. "Oh, you're a bowler? Um, you bowl things? To wickets? That is amazing, that is so fabulously cool." I understand you, women of India, I do.


Google to Reshoot Street Views of Japanese Cities - SFGate (via AP)

The backlash against Google Map's occasionally creep-tacular surveillance efforts continues: the Japanese are complaining that Google's photos look right into many folks backyards. Regardless of what mysterious and exciting thing they're doing back there, Google got the message: they're reshooting em' all.

Kind of Bloop - Kickstarter

Marvelous gentlemen attempting to recreate Mile's Davis's Kind of Blue in 8-bit. For God's sake, please donate. I can't wait to hear jazz music rendered into chiptune.

i hate talking about music with people my age

Speaking of cool people, these neon sunglasses fill me with an almost unspeakable rage.


Nothing makes people my age, cool people of a certain age, more douchy, more unsupportable and odious, then music. Music is the nexus of pretension and wankery among people my age, we of generation Y, we who survived the faux-punk era of the early 2000’s, we who derive great and perverse pleasure from bludgeoning one another with our knowledge of music arcane. I will do pretty much anything to avoid talking about music with other People My Age. I will crawl through trenches of broken glass and bury my head in flower pots and run jibbering into the night. I will avoid Discussing Music at all costs.

Human worth is assessed for people of a certain age and a certain social echelon by the music they listen to and are familiar with. Coping to a fondness for stuff that is mainstream, uninteresting, or simply uncool by some complex and incomprehensible metric can lead to social ruin and dissolution. Further, one’s opinion of Acceptable and Non Acceptable music must remain a fluid and transient thing as life goes on and one ages and becomes (presumably) more sophisticated and awesome. A 15 year olds fondness for garage psychedelic music becomes embarrassing when the advanced age of 21 is achieved, a 16 year old’s new found admiration for Django Reindhart becomes embarrassingly provincial as they enter university and the more exclusive social circles.

No, a young person who aspires to any semblance of currentness must continually advance their knowledge of obscurity, their willingness to listen to noise metal that sounds like recorded and guttural vomit, their ability to memorize facts about bassist’s assistants nose hairs. So much hangs in the balance.

It is because of Music that I despise talking to people in clubs. First: no one should talk to each other in clubs, at least in good ones. In a good club the music should be excellent and the booze should be, if not excellent, at least cheap and easy to obtain. If these two elements are in place then no one should be talking to each other as nothing good can come of discussion, except for poorly advised sex. Further, when someone talks to me in a club, I am forced to engage in the mighty hipster Social Dance, wherein my opponent/new best friend attempts to ferret out my music preferences to assess if I am worthy of their time and attention. This usually occurs in the guise of a few pointed questions about What I Listen To.

There was a time when I was foolish and frightened, and reader, I played the game. I told them what I liked, exactly that and no more. When I said What I Liked, the other party’s reaction was invariable controlled, slow burning disdain, a shifting of weight,an arching of the eyebrow. I said something wrong, even I could figure that one out, but the maddening element of it was that I did not know what, exactly, was wrong. I did develop a few survival strategies. The first was to immediately rattle off the most incredibly obscure artists and bands I knew of, in the hope of stupefying the other person long enough for me to escape to the ladies room.

Unfortunately, this did not always work for I do not know nearly enough obscure bands. Often, I would (to my horror) register a band that was Cool. This meant the other person would flip their black-dyed hair and sip their drink and say, “Oh, aren’t they amazing? Aren’t they cool? I saw them about twelve times in Brooklyn in the Young Donkey’s Underground Club and we used to get wasted together, real cool guys. What did you think of their third LP, I mean, really think? Too much reverb?”

I hated this. I had no idea the band in question even had a third LP. I’m still not really sure what the hell an LP is, and I would have to fire up Google and lurk in a corner for a bit to figure out what, pray tell, reverb might be. When someone asked me their opinion on these things I had two bad options: try to bullshit my way through the conversation until I reasonably could run for the bathroom, or simply admit I didn’t know a damn thing about their third LP and be regarded as if I were the Queen of Lame, the Lame Mistress, the Lamest Human on Earth.

Another potential minefield was the Band Currently Playing, when one is at a show in a nightclub where cool people converge and spawn. I can usually find something at least tolerable in most music (this too precludes me from coolness) – which leads always to terrible conversations. I will meet someone at a club and they will ask me about the band as I am getting my drink. I will smile in an ingratiating way and say, “I think they’re very good.” The other person, who has a stud in the middle of their chin how do you even do that, will sigh theatrically, regard me hard, and say, “Really? I think they’re terrible.” And I will be forced to backpedal, or burrow into the bar-area, or (dream of) smashing my drink over my head. For saying that you actually like something is the greatest social suicide. No one is allowed to actually like things anymore.

I used to try to bullshit – it’s not very hard. You just repeat everything they say to you. Perhaps the hipster boy who accosted me in the corner might say, “I really liked the use of polyphonic tambourine on the fifth track. The one about Sumeria.”

Wherein I would think swiftly back to my expensive liberal education and parry. “Oh,, I thought their interpretation of the Gilgamesh myth was real cool, the whole humping-Enkidu bit, the noble savage motif. With the recorders. And all.”

“Enkidu, huh? Maybe the recorder symbolized the fall of man, I guess. A primitive instrument, Yeah, you really got it, you really made me think!”

And I would be safe. I would watch as my skinny-jean wearing opponent walked away, a cheap but culturally acceptable beer in their hand, and I would breathe a sigh of relief.

I don’t care anymore. I like to listen to Lady GaGa, Cat Stevens, and Bob Seger. I think people who produce noise metal should really turn down their amps and get a real job. I find Of Montreal repellant (I believe the lead singer is not nearly self-loathing enough for an indie band member, self confidence merely demeans and dilutes them). Once I was nearly moved to tears by a Celtic folk song about Irish immigrants and I am not even Irish. I recently made up a dance routine once to Justin Timberlake’s immortal “Sexy Back” and performed it in mixed company. I will never in a million years be cool. I give it up and abscond with it.

I am not ashamed, I am not ashamed, and I am not ashamed, no longer.


PS: Is douchey a word???
PPS: If it isn’t it should become one really soon. I call people a douche all the time. It might be my calling card.
PPPS: Is that another obnoxious sub-hipster conceit? Should I knock that off? Is that another repulsive aspect of my personality?
PPSS: Why, I am very neurotic. I should join an indie band myself and spend my time looking mad at people in clubs.