This week has been a triumph of exploration.
To start with, I made the acquaintance of some people who share my interests, and have realized which of my friends I cherish most. This is an accomplishment in general, for who you are is in large molded by who you surround yourself with; people influence your actions, which influence your behavior, which influences your being. More importantly, the people you associate with expose you to their world and thus broaden how you see yours. And since I'm looking to expose myself to the world beyond the obvious, I am especially proud of my ability to realize who can help me learn.
Secondly, I am quite honestly proud of myself for learning how to use a sewing machine. Again, I feel that this is an important life skill in general; it one step towards self-reliance, and maybe one day I'll be able to make very useful things out of fabric so I can live more cheaply. I am more proud of learning to sew in that it expands my ability to create, which I believe is an important ability to have as a hipster. Like I said, knowing how to sew enables you to spend little money making things you would normally buy for a lot more in a store, but it also enables me to embellish and improve objects I already have. Take my first project completed with my new-found skill: pockets. Using scraps of fabric that my grandmother would have otherwise never used, I made my shoulder-bag (which I'm not sure makes me hipster or really gay) much more versatile, organized, and functional. I exercised my creativity a little by picking fabrics and threads that complimented each other and using a special needle-point pattern when I created the hem of the pocket (where it opens). I then sewed my new pockets into my bag, and now have three pockets, in which I can place pens, hand sanitizer, keys, gum, all that jazz. I'm very excited to not have to dig through the bottom of the bag to find my chapstick!
Thirdly, I have embarked on a mission to broaden my intellectual horizons. The last books I read this summer (the perks of being a wallflower, Le Petit Prince) have been aimed at gleaning emotional depth. However, starting with Henrik Ibsen's "A Doll's House," I am hoping to glean wit and perception through studying classic and cerebral literature. For my Religion class I'm reading Dorothy Day's autobiography and she keeps throwing out all these names of famous authors and philosophers who have written influential texts, so I'm going to pick a few and start heading in that direction. So far, "A Doll's House" is intriguing and I'm enjoying it immensely. Next, I'm going to attempt to read Walden by Henry David Thoreau. I've tried before and didn't finish, but maybe it will prove to be a good exercise and help me understand complicated movies I'm watching. Hopefully by the time I get around to watching another Luis Bunuel movie I'll actually know what's going on.
Lastly, I am ecstatic to be applying for an internship with the Public Relations department of the Victoria Theatre Association, which owns the historic Victoria Theatre downtown as well as the modern Schuster Center. Art is a fundamental aspect of the hipster's life...at least I think so. Regardless, it is an aspiration of mine to work in Arts Management, so I am absolutely thrilled to have the opportunity to apply for a position. If I get the job, I will be surrounded with art and people who actually care for it, so I am presuming that the internship would bring me very far down the road of hipster enlightenment.
My journey is finally about to get underway; preparations are heating up. I am learning the skills, finding the people. searching for the environments. Once the semester starts, the trek begins, and I'll be hitting the ground running.
Next week is my final week of classes, and I cannot wait for them to be over! As much as a hipster appreciates his solitude, he thrives off the company of others who share his passions. Plus, I'm more than ready to get my life underway again. Until then, I've got books to read and movies to watch.
Until next week: ciao!
Tucker
30 July 2011
24 July 2011
Day Seven: Ketchup
This weekend was...interesting. The first part of it was spent doing absolutely nothing. I watched TV, worked on an assignment, ordered pizza. I am working on knitting myself a huge fluffy white scarf for those Ohio winters, and that helped me retain sanity while being cooped up in my dorm. I figure that knitting is actually pretty hipster--what could be more so than making your own clothes? I'll post a picture onto Tumblr when I'm done and we can judge just how hipster it is.
I couldn't go the entire weekend without exploring the mystical land of hipster, so Friday night I watched Pulp Fiction. Directed by Quentin Tarantino, released 1994. Starring Uma Thurman, Samuel L. Jackson, John Travolta. Miss Thurman and Mr. Jackson weren't big names yet, and Mr. Travolta had fallen off the radar; Mr. Tarantino wasn't the legend he is now. Thus, all things considered, I excused their current mainstream-ness and decided to see what the hype is all about.
I have to admit, I'm still slightly confused. Quentin Tarantino has a fantastic knack for witty banter and dark humor, but my lack of hipster perception left me befuddled as to some major details. I understand the intricacies of the film, but don't honestly comprehend the significance of most it. I thoroughly enjoyed frequently seeing a much younger, shirtless Bruce Willis, but frankly did not see the significance of his character in the film. Uma Thurman turns in a solid performance being weird and druggy, but again, didn't quite see the deeper meaning. The only two characters that I profoundly understood were the hilarious Samuel L. Jackson and the weird-haircutted John Travolta. I'm going to have to find a more seasoned hipster to help me out with this one. As a cinematic whole, I enjoyed the film. The acting is commendable. The dialogue is smart, sharp, comedic. The directing and editing are quite stimulating. That being said, to me it's a beautiful, well-crafted armoire, but when I open up the drawers its contents are a mystery.I'm still realizing how simple I am. That's going to have to change though, because every hipster I know wishes they were interesting.
But how does one become interesting?
I couldn't go the entire weekend without exploring the mystical land of hipster, so Friday night I watched Pulp Fiction. Directed by Quentin Tarantino, released 1994. Starring Uma Thurman, Samuel L. Jackson, John Travolta. Miss Thurman and Mr. Jackson weren't big names yet, and Mr. Travolta had fallen off the radar; Mr. Tarantino wasn't the legend he is now. Thus, all things considered, I excused their current mainstream-ness and decided to see what the hype is all about.
I have to admit, I'm still slightly confused. Quentin Tarantino has a fantastic knack for witty banter and dark humor, but my lack of hipster perception left me befuddled as to some major details. I understand the intricacies of the film, but don't honestly comprehend the significance of most it. I thoroughly enjoyed frequently seeing a much younger, shirtless Bruce Willis, but frankly did not see the significance of his character in the film. Uma Thurman turns in a solid performance being weird and druggy, but again, didn't quite see the deeper meaning. The only two characters that I profoundly understood were the hilarious Samuel L. Jackson and the weird-haircutted John Travolta. I'm going to have to find a more seasoned hipster to help me out with this one. As a cinematic whole, I enjoyed the film. The acting is commendable. The dialogue is smart, sharp, comedic. The directing and editing are quite stimulating. That being said, to me it's a beautiful, well-crafted armoire, but when I open up the drawers its contents are a mystery.I'm still realizing how simple I am. That's going to have to change though, because every hipster I know wishes they were interesting.
But how does one become interesting?
22 July 2011
Day Five: Mental Undertones
Admittedly, there hasn't been much going on that is worth reporting. I've kind of gotten a little run-down, and need the weekend to catch up on things. I had been focusing a little too much on being hipster, which means I had basically lost touch with the reality that right now my life cannot be solely about connecting with my emotions and exploring the artistic. I will be able to do that one day, but right now is a different story.
In the spirit of diversity and expansion, though, I have created a Tumblr. Someone suggested I do so to earn more "indie cred." I think I'm trying pretty hard to do so and not doing as well as some of my obviously more seasoned friends who are much more acquainted with the world of hipster. It has made me realize that I am not the only one with such "obscure" or "exclusive" tastes--I'm not the only one obsessed with Animal Collective and Alexis Mabille. However, there is still so much of the Alternative music, art, and fashion scene that I have yet to discover. Tumblr really is the hipster's version of Facebook--you post anything you want, but since no one comments or anything, what you're positing is for privately expressing yourself in public view (even though you're secretly dying to know what people think about what you're blogging). I think my next step is to see what everyone is blogging and explore the music/books/artists that they mention. Should provide for some....eye-opening discoveries, I presume.
If you'd like to follow me on Tumblr, the blog is under the same name as this one.
I still have a lot to learn and explore. But right now, I've got schoolwork.
Hasta luego amigos.
Tucker
In the spirit of diversity and expansion, though, I have created a Tumblr. Someone suggested I do so to earn more "indie cred." I think I'm trying pretty hard to do so and not doing as well as some of my obviously more seasoned friends who are much more acquainted with the world of hipster. It has made me realize that I am not the only one with such "obscure" or "exclusive" tastes--I'm not the only one obsessed with Animal Collective and Alexis Mabille. However, there is still so much of the Alternative music, art, and fashion scene that I have yet to discover. Tumblr really is the hipster's version of Facebook--you post anything you want, but since no one comments or anything, what you're positing is for privately expressing yourself in public view (even though you're secretly dying to know what people think about what you're blogging). I think my next step is to see what everyone is blogging and explore the music/books/artists that they mention. Should provide for some....eye-opening discoveries, I presume.
If you'd like to follow me on Tumblr, the blog is under the same name as this one.
I still have a lot to learn and explore. But right now, I've got schoolwork.
Hasta luego amigos.
Tucker
21 July 2011
Day Four: Life's a Pearl; I'm Swine.
It's almost weekend time, so I'm going to keep this one short to leave plenty of time for PBR, flail-dancing around campfires, turning t-shirts into cutoffs, and listening to Jimi Hendrix records while stoned. Well, I won't be doing any of the above, but I'm sure I'd meet some pretty...interesting lads and lasses if I did.
Regardless, the other day I was talking to a very dear friend of mine about le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and how utterly adorable it is! This time, I promise I won't ramble, and there weren't any tears. It's just a cute little book that contains pretty simple little nuggets of wisdom. A WWII pilot and French war hero, Saint-Exupéry's still is profound while maintaining whimsy. I think the hipster is starting to soak in.
This conversation lead me to ponder one hipster trait I wish to never possess- looking for profundity for the sake of profundity. And I honestly hope I never become one of those people who just posts quotes that are supposed to me meaningful but really say anything. Even though sharing your enlightenment and boasting your broad "knowledge" of books and music is one of the most hipster acts one can do, it's where I draw the line. Unless I have read it and seriously pondered it, and it has a specific sentimental value (which a lot of things do to me these days), I promise not to be "that guy" who is so phony and tries to act like he's intelligent and sensitive.
I really hope I'm never that guy.
But I can't help but do it once...for irony's sake.
"Dit le renard: Voici mon secret. Il est très simple: on ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux."
[If you're dying to know what it says, Google Translate it. That way you can hear it for yourself. Mmmmmm.]
Tucker <3
Regardless, the other day I was talking to a very dear friend of mine about le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and how utterly adorable it is! This time, I promise I won't ramble, and there weren't any tears. It's just a cute little book that contains pretty simple little nuggets of wisdom. A WWII pilot and French war hero, Saint-Exupéry's still is profound while maintaining whimsy. I think the hipster is starting to soak in.
This conversation lead me to ponder one hipster trait I wish to never possess- looking for profundity for the sake of profundity. And I honestly hope I never become one of those people who just posts quotes that are supposed to me meaningful but really say anything. Even though sharing your enlightenment and boasting your broad "knowledge" of books and music is one of the most hipster acts one can do, it's where I draw the line. Unless I have read it and seriously pondered it, and it has a specific sentimental value (which a lot of things do to me these days), I promise not to be "that guy" who is so phony and tries to act like he's intelligent and sensitive.
I really hope I'm never that guy.
But I can't help but do it once...for irony's sake.
"Dit le renard: Voici mon secret. Il est très simple: on ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux."
[If you're dying to know what it says, Google Translate it. That way you can hear it for yourself. Mmmmmm.]
Tucker <3
20 July 2011
Day Three: Through the Tunnel
Well, I finished The Perks of Being a Wallflower. In all honestly, I gravely underestimated it. I had almost written it off as an over-hyped book that less than intelligent people try to pass off as "mind-blowing," like Inception. However, upon reading the book, I cannot emphasize enough how much it means to me. It perfectly captures the spirit of being in high school, of being in love, of being hurt, of being alone, of being accepted, of being sad. There were so many times that I stopped to ponder the last line, then read it again and just sat there. At a couple points, the book even brought me to tears. Before you begin to think that I've just been brainwashed into the Cult of Hipster, allow me to explain why it affected me so.
First off, it gave me nostalgia for the 90s. And I don't mean that in a "I miss Nirvana and when Clinton was President" kind of way, because I wasn't old enough to truly understand the culture of the 90s; what I mean is the wonderful sensation that was being an American in the 1990s. What this book captures so perfectly is the pre 9/11 world of my childhood--the world in which nothing could go wrong in the little worlds we lived in. There was corporate greed, sexism, environmental decay, racism, and all that punk rebelled against, but that was left to the radical thinkers and the outward artists. I miss the naivete of the late twentieth century, when I could play in the neighborhood without my parents fearing for my life. When life was a little simpler because it wasn't plastered all over the internet. When getting in touch with someone meant talking to him or her on the phone for hours, not shooting an occasional text. When music was real and emotional, and people made mixed tapes and still bought records and CD's because they truly appreciated an artist, not pirated songs from the internet because others wanted them to. That 90s--the 90s I grew up in.
Secondly, even though the book is set long before my high school years, Chbosky perfectly encapsulates the social fears, tensions, and stresses of adolescence. What particularly touched me was his portrayal of Patrick and Brad. Patrick and Brad are what today's terms would simply call a "gay couple." However, Brad being the starting quarterback greatly complicates the relationship. There is even a subtle understanding that Patrick, the "open" one, isn't extremely open about his sexuality. Today, in 2011, I am openly gay; the book is set in 1991--the difference of two decades is monumental yet eerily constant. All throughout middle and high school, I was called names that still grate upon my eardrums, even though I had always identified as straight. Thus, the struggles of this couple to find honest and transparent love rang especially resonant with me, and the way Chbosky describes their relationship gives me hope that one day, I will find true love and all the exotic accompanying trappings of grief and complexity that every couple encounters.
Third: Charlie's mental afflictions are hauntingly similar to the psychological struggles I have been facing for the last few months--the panicky sobbing, the anxiety and over-thinking. The point at which the tears started forming in the corners of my eyes was a passage (on page 94). "I don't know if you've ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That's why I'm trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning." Only someone who has been to the hellish depths of depression knows what this feels like. And I have. And I do. Too well.
Fourth: Charlie's relationship with his sister reminds me of my own relationship with my sister. The character does not resemble my sister in herself, but I relate to the situation--the desire to be close, the frustration in not being able to get close, the exhilaration when we are close.
As far as how this book has taught me about the wonders of hipsterosity, it would seem that a hipster has to have a certain sense of vulnerability and immense amounts of emotional depth. Especially after reading this book, I think I have that down pat.
Now that I have been way too open, I don't really know what to say. Except: I know why people quote this book on Facebook all the time, and I will no longer be irritated by that. There are countless gems of wisdom and meaning in this book, and I sincerely suggest that everyone who had a difficult high school career read this book.
Hopefully the next excursion is a little happier. I'll see you then.
Love always,
Tucker
First off, it gave me nostalgia for the 90s. And I don't mean that in a "I miss Nirvana and when Clinton was President" kind of way, because I wasn't old enough to truly understand the culture of the 90s; what I mean is the wonderful sensation that was being an American in the 1990s. What this book captures so perfectly is the pre 9/11 world of my childhood--the world in which nothing could go wrong in the little worlds we lived in. There was corporate greed, sexism, environmental decay, racism, and all that punk rebelled against, but that was left to the radical thinkers and the outward artists. I miss the naivete of the late twentieth century, when I could play in the neighborhood without my parents fearing for my life. When life was a little simpler because it wasn't plastered all over the internet. When getting in touch with someone meant talking to him or her on the phone for hours, not shooting an occasional text. When music was real and emotional, and people made mixed tapes and still bought records and CD's because they truly appreciated an artist, not pirated songs from the internet because others wanted them to. That 90s--the 90s I grew up in.
Secondly, even though the book is set long before my high school years, Chbosky perfectly encapsulates the social fears, tensions, and stresses of adolescence. What particularly touched me was his portrayal of Patrick and Brad. Patrick and Brad are what today's terms would simply call a "gay couple." However, Brad being the starting quarterback greatly complicates the relationship. There is even a subtle understanding that Patrick, the "open" one, isn't extremely open about his sexuality. Today, in 2011, I am openly gay; the book is set in 1991--the difference of two decades is monumental yet eerily constant. All throughout middle and high school, I was called names that still grate upon my eardrums, even though I had always identified as straight. Thus, the struggles of this couple to find honest and transparent love rang especially resonant with me, and the way Chbosky describes their relationship gives me hope that one day, I will find true love and all the exotic accompanying trappings of grief and complexity that every couple encounters.
Third: Charlie's mental afflictions are hauntingly similar to the psychological struggles I have been facing for the last few months--the panicky sobbing, the anxiety and over-thinking. The point at which the tears started forming in the corners of my eyes was a passage (on page 94). "I don't know if you've ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That's why I'm trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning." Only someone who has been to the hellish depths of depression knows what this feels like. And I have. And I do. Too well.
Fourth: Charlie's relationship with his sister reminds me of my own relationship with my sister. The character does not resemble my sister in herself, but I relate to the situation--the desire to be close, the frustration in not being able to get close, the exhilaration when we are close.
As far as how this book has taught me about the wonders of hipsterosity, it would seem that a hipster has to have a certain sense of vulnerability and immense amounts of emotional depth. Especially after reading this book, I think I have that down pat.
Now that I have been way too open, I don't really know what to say. Except: I know why people quote this book on Facebook all the time, and I will no longer be irritated by that. There are countless gems of wisdom and meaning in this book, and I sincerely suggest that everyone who had a difficult high school career read this book.
Hopefully the next excursion is a little happier. I'll see you then.
Love always,
Tucker
19 July 2011
Day Two: Like Clockwork
Tonight, my journey into hipsterdom leads me to an exploration in film. The movie: "A Clockwork Orange." Released in 1971; directed by Stanley Kubrick. It seems hipstery enough...is it?
Well, first off, it was made before I was born, and every hipster knows that if it was made before you were born, it's awesome. Secondly, upon reading the reviews, it would appear that the movie has somewhat of a cult following as well as a large amount of people who despise it--excuse me: don't get it. (The mainstream hates what it can't understand; the hipster understands what the mainstream can't.) Thirdly, it's British, and we all know that the British are so much more raw and grungy than we uptight Americans are; grunge is so indie. Fourthly, it has a message that takes some time, perception, and dark humor to understand--only truly indie movies make you feel something real.
So: old, "misunderstood," foreign, contemplative, and sarcastic. I'd say that's pretty hipster. I enhanced the hipster mood by ordering a mushroom pizza from Cousin Vinny's [hipster qualifications: cheap, not so great tasting, local, vegetarian]. All I needed to complete the effect was my grandmother's Tiffany lamp hanging from the ceiling.
Upon viewing the movie, I fell into a truly indie state of contemplation. I don't think it will really give anything away to say that Kubrick is trying to make his viewers think about crime and punishment: the personal benefits and detriments of the former; the lengths governments will go to make sure the latter is effective. Any movie that makes you think like that is so exclusive. So, I begin to ponder these abstract generalities that specifically affect my everyday life. What is the role of government in reforming its prisoners? Is Skinnerian conditioning on humans immoral? Does the absence of evil equate to the presence of good? Of course, I have to have an opinion about all of these things because being conscious and opinionated is so obscure. However, I come across a stumbling block: I have absolutely no idea why the film is called "A Clockwork Orange." Is he trying to make some sort of extremely obscure message? Is it a metaphor? An allusion? I just can't figure it out. I guess I have a long way yet until I master the philosophy of hipster.
After a while, all this profound pondering is giving me a headache, and I am growing weary of thinking about serious things that are obviously very important in my immediate life. I'm going to chalk it up to a philosophical workout and call it a day. However, I can't deny that I actually enjoyed the film for its efforts toward poignancy, humor, and creativity: three main components of hipster living.
See? I'm learning already.
Well, first off, it was made before I was born, and every hipster knows that if it was made before you were born, it's awesome. Secondly, upon reading the reviews, it would appear that the movie has somewhat of a cult following as well as a large amount of people who despise it--excuse me: don't get it. (The mainstream hates what it can't understand; the hipster understands what the mainstream can't.) Thirdly, it's British, and we all know that the British are so much more raw and grungy than we uptight Americans are; grunge is so indie. Fourthly, it has a message that takes some time, perception, and dark humor to understand--only truly indie movies make you feel something real.
So: old, "misunderstood," foreign, contemplative, and sarcastic. I'd say that's pretty hipster. I enhanced the hipster mood by ordering a mushroom pizza from Cousin Vinny's [hipster qualifications: cheap, not so great tasting, local, vegetarian]. All I needed to complete the effect was my grandmother's Tiffany lamp hanging from the ceiling.
Upon viewing the movie, I fell into a truly indie state of contemplation. I don't think it will really give anything away to say that Kubrick is trying to make his viewers think about crime and punishment: the personal benefits and detriments of the former; the lengths governments will go to make sure the latter is effective. Any movie that makes you think like that is so exclusive. So, I begin to ponder these abstract generalities that specifically affect my everyday life. What is the role of government in reforming its prisoners? Is Skinnerian conditioning on humans immoral? Does the absence of evil equate to the presence of good? Of course, I have to have an opinion about all of these things because being conscious and opinionated is so obscure. However, I come across a stumbling block: I have absolutely no idea why the film is called "A Clockwork Orange." Is he trying to make some sort of extremely obscure message? Is it a metaphor? An allusion? I just can't figure it out. I guess I have a long way yet until I master the philosophy of hipster.
After a while, all this profound pondering is giving me a headache, and I am growing weary of thinking about serious things that are obviously very important in my immediate life. I'm going to chalk it up to a philosophical workout and call it a day. However, I can't deny that I actually enjoyed the film for its efforts toward poignancy, humor, and creativity: three main components of hipster living.
See? I'm learning already.
18 July 2011
Day One: Chbosky who?
At age 19, I have finally come to a realization and have come to terms with what that realization entails: I am, for all intents and purposes, a hipster. I cringe upon hearing myself utter that phrase, but after making fun of so-called "hipsters" for so long, it has finally dawned on me that so many of the things I criticize them for, I actually do myself.
For example, the practice of "upcycling-" the euphemistic term used to describe salvaging old things and using them in daily life. This ranges from vintage T-shirts and bags, to playing vinyls, to drinking out of mason jars. Right now, I am living on campus for summer classes, and as I look around my dorm room, I notice immediately a rusty beach chair that was probably purchased in 1993; a leather shoulder bag that my grandmother gave me; and, unfortunately, two mason jars that I regularly drink and eat out of. With such glaring evidence, how could I have ever denied my hipster-ness? Allow me to make my case.
Take the beach chair. Every weekend that I lived in North Carolina as a child, my sisters and I would take the golf cart down to the beach. Often, we would take with us a boogie board, some sand castle building materials, and a small beach chair. Thus, I present the rusty, child-sized beach chair as Evidence A, in defense of what I am veiling my hispterosity as: nostalgia. When my parents claimed they were throwing it away during their recent move, how could I let them do it? Tossing it in the dumpster would be tossing my childhood on the sandy dunes of Emerald Isle along with it!
Evidence B: the shoulder bag. People frequently ask me which vintage store I went to and purchased this bag. I tell them: "My grandmother's attic." You see, I use it because it is a part of my family heritage, a piece of my past and my family of yesteryear.
Evidence C: the mason jars. I am allowed to use them because I am from Ohio (kind of). That is, I live in Ohio, my mother grew up in Ohio, my grandmother grew up in Ohio, yadda yadda yadda. And I'm not talking "one of the three C's" Ohio--I'm talking good ol' New Carlisle. Never heard of it? It's in Bethel Township. Never heard of that? It's near Tipp City. Never heard of that? You get my point. Plus, my mother and grandmother have always had numerous mason jars around so that they could jar the green beans my grandfather grows, or the jam made from the concord grapes out back, or for homemade apple butter. So who blames me for using an old one for personal use?
Okay, fine; my case is hogwash. Nostalgia is hipster.
The first step on the road to recovery is admitting you have a problem. Step 1: done. But before I admit myself to Exclusive Rehab, why not have fun with it? Join me as I attempt to live the life of the hipster from A to the letters after Z that are too obscure for the mainstream. Tonight, begin my journey by picking up the hipster's diary: The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. I would listen to Arcade Fire while I read, but ever since they won a Grammy, they're too obvious.
Mata! (That's Japanese for later- bye is so cliche.)
Tucker
For example, the practice of "upcycling-" the euphemistic term used to describe salvaging old things and using them in daily life. This ranges from vintage T-shirts and bags, to playing vinyls, to drinking out of mason jars. Right now, I am living on campus for summer classes, and as I look around my dorm room, I notice immediately a rusty beach chair that was probably purchased in 1993; a leather shoulder bag that my grandmother gave me; and, unfortunately, two mason jars that I regularly drink and eat out of. With such glaring evidence, how could I have ever denied my hipster-ness? Allow me to make my case.
Take the beach chair. Every weekend that I lived in North Carolina as a child, my sisters and I would take the golf cart down to the beach. Often, we would take with us a boogie board, some sand castle building materials, and a small beach chair. Thus, I present the rusty, child-sized beach chair as Evidence A, in defense of what I am veiling my hispterosity as: nostalgia. When my parents claimed they were throwing it away during their recent move, how could I let them do it? Tossing it in the dumpster would be tossing my childhood on the sandy dunes of Emerald Isle along with it!
Evidence B: the shoulder bag. People frequently ask me which vintage store I went to and purchased this bag. I tell them: "My grandmother's attic." You see, I use it because it is a part of my family heritage, a piece of my past and my family of yesteryear.
Evidence C: the mason jars. I am allowed to use them because I am from Ohio (kind of). That is, I live in Ohio, my mother grew up in Ohio, my grandmother grew up in Ohio, yadda yadda yadda. And I'm not talking "one of the three C's" Ohio--I'm talking good ol' New Carlisle. Never heard of it? It's in Bethel Township. Never heard of that? It's near Tipp City. Never heard of that? You get my point. Plus, my mother and grandmother have always had numerous mason jars around so that they could jar the green beans my grandfather grows, or the jam made from the concord grapes out back, or for homemade apple butter. So who blames me for using an old one for personal use?
Okay, fine; my case is hogwash. Nostalgia is hipster.
The first step on the road to recovery is admitting you have a problem. Step 1: done. But before I admit myself to Exclusive Rehab, why not have fun with it? Join me as I attempt to live the life of the hipster from A to the letters after Z that are too obscure for the mainstream. Tonight, begin my journey by picking up the hipster's diary: The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. I would listen to Arcade Fire while I read, but ever since they won a Grammy, they're too obvious.
Mata! (That's Japanese for later- bye is so cliche.)
Tucker
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