reflections on a day in williamsburg.
ok, so let me preface this rant by saying that while i will discuss my (un)coolness in a moment, i'm afraid my son is a hipster doofus.
exhibit a:
he rocked the show and had all the indie rock kids screaming for him. mainly because he's cute. he actually got bad stage fright once up there, but he begged kimya to join her on stage. i have it on dvd, if you're ever over. this is old but proof of his awesome powers.
exhibit b:
he joined the bedford ave circus of the insane or whatever they were called and raffled himself off for $26. don't worry, we didn't sell him.
first he asked if he could play with their toys, when they welcomed him into their herd, he took their money. i screamed and he gave it back, settling instead for a bike horn.
he's a really funny kid. many people have suggested he find his home in the theater. i say, let's wait for him to fully learn to read first. he did me proud, tho, the other day, when he sat down to draw and make a book while all the other children in the afterschool program watched monster trucks. when his pal asked him if he liked monster trucks he said, "i'm not that interested in watching cars smash into each other". that's my boy.
so we (becks, meryl, chuk, log) spent a lovely day in brooklyn. we ate overpriced but tasty (for me and mer, not so much for becks and chuk) mexican. we walked around and looked at all the things that we couldn't afford. and here's the thing: i'm kind of over that scene. becks and i were talking about it and really, it's as though people are in competition to see who could look the most ridiculous and who will pay the most money for that honor. that's totally rebecca's genius observation, btw, but i fully agree. and just like everyone looks the same here, in their uggs and sevens and north face or their a&f/ hollister hoodies and aeo jeans, every cool kid looks the same too. skinny jeans, leather bomber or member's only, a scarf, boots boots boots. american apparel leggings. etc. you know. it's just fashion, either way, and i guess i aesthetically prefer williamsburg to nassau county but really, it's JUST fashion. and this is coming from a girl who loves loves loves clothes. loves. you know that. you know me. but what i call shenanigans on is the belief that an outfit from mini mini market makes you somehow more culturally relevant or awesome that those that dare to eat at tgif in their mom jeans and disney shirts. if you stripped us all down to our pale, jiggly selves, and we all just talked, it really comes down to two types of people: real and fake. and i hate that whole, "there's two types of people" debate because there are so many subsections to that that it's beyond overgeneralizing to try to come up with two real categories to define people in (except for, possibly, male and female, but then even there there are so many ambiguities mtf, ftm, mtm, ftf, boi, gurrrrl..... i'm exhausted thinking about it). there are two types of people: those who say it's cashed, and those who say let's see; those who drink coffee, those who like tea; those who see the glass as half full of sake, those who see it as half empty. it can go on and on and on, and none of that is even true, or perhaps all of it is. dear god, what was i even talking about?? oh yeah. fake trifling bitches.
let me go back a minute. a quick rehash. i was born in levittown, grew up here on long island, went to school in boston, travelled through europe one semester, moved to seattle, moved back, got pregnant, had a baby, became a teacher, etc, etc. at one point, i was unpopular, at one point, i was cool, at one point, i was almost thirty (so close i'm holding on like hell to the twenties but they're going going... ) and working hard at something i almost want for little pay. i spend my nights eating diet ice cream and watching tv. i have friends, i have people who need me to be around, i have a slew of children who love me that don't belong to me and one who does who thinks i'm aces, and a husband, and a cat, an apartment. i'm boring. this is my life. and sometimes i think, it's ok. it's ok that i'm a little soft in the middle and the girls aren't as perky as they were, and i'm respectable and can't drink much anymore and it's ok because i HAD a life. but now i think, fuck that. it's ok because i HAVE a life. and this is it. and who am i to want something "cooler"? What the hell does that even mean? cool? hot? whatever, man, i'm just trying to get by. and the best people i have met in a long time, the people that would be there for me for anything, that would throw down, that would put in the time and the energy and the love and the good, they're not wearing the skinny jeans and the boots and the scarves. i mean, some are, but most aren't. because when you stop worrying about whether or not you're cool enough, when you stop hoping to be seen in the scene, i think maybe you actually become the coolest fucking person in the room. and that's the scene i want to be seen in from now on. want to join me??
exhibit a:
he rocked the show and had all the indie rock kids screaming for him. mainly because he's cute. he actually got bad stage fright once up there, but he begged kimya to join her on stage. i have it on dvd, if you're ever over. this is old but proof of his awesome powers.
exhibit b:
he joined the bedford ave circus of the insane or whatever they were called and raffled himself off for $26. don't worry, we didn't sell him.
first he asked if he could play with their toys, when they welcomed him into their herd, he took their money. i screamed and he gave it back, settling instead for a bike horn.
he's a really funny kid. many people have suggested he find his home in the theater. i say, let's wait for him to fully learn to read first. he did me proud, tho, the other day, when he sat down to draw and make a book while all the other children in the afterschool program watched monster trucks. when his pal asked him if he liked monster trucks he said, "i'm not that interested in watching cars smash into each other". that's my boy.
so we (becks, meryl, chuk, log) spent a lovely day in brooklyn. we ate overpriced but tasty (for me and mer, not so much for becks and chuk) mexican. we walked around and looked at all the things that we couldn't afford. and here's the thing: i'm kind of over that scene. becks and i were talking about it and really, it's as though people are in competition to see who could look the most ridiculous and who will pay the most money for that honor. that's totally rebecca's genius observation, btw, but i fully agree. and just like everyone looks the same here, in their uggs and sevens and north face or their a&f/ hollister hoodies and aeo jeans, every cool kid looks the same too. skinny jeans, leather bomber or member's only, a scarf, boots boots boots. american apparel leggings. etc. you know. it's just fashion, either way, and i guess i aesthetically prefer williamsburg to nassau county but really, it's JUST fashion. and this is coming from a girl who loves loves loves clothes. loves. you know that. you know me. but what i call shenanigans on is the belief that an outfit from mini mini market makes you somehow more culturally relevant or awesome that those that dare to eat at tgif in their mom jeans and disney shirts. if you stripped us all down to our pale, jiggly selves, and we all just talked, it really comes down to two types of people: real and fake. and i hate that whole, "there's two types of people" debate because there are so many subsections to that that it's beyond overgeneralizing to try to come up with two real categories to define people in (except for, possibly, male and female, but then even there there are so many ambiguities mtf, ftm, mtm, ftf, boi, gurrrrl..... i'm exhausted thinking about it). there are two types of people: those who say it's cashed, and those who say let's see; those who drink coffee, those who like tea; those who see the glass as half full of sake, those who see it as half empty. it can go on and on and on, and none of that is even true, or perhaps all of it is. dear god, what was i even talking about?? oh yeah. fake trifling bitches.
let me go back a minute. a quick rehash. i was born in levittown, grew up here on long island, went to school in boston, travelled through europe one semester, moved to seattle, moved back, got pregnant, had a baby, became a teacher, etc, etc. at one point, i was unpopular, at one point, i was cool, at one point, i was almost thirty (so close i'm holding on like hell to the twenties but they're going going... ) and working hard at something i almost want for little pay. i spend my nights eating diet ice cream and watching tv. i have friends, i have people who need me to be around, i have a slew of children who love me that don't belong to me and one who does who thinks i'm aces, and a husband, and a cat, an apartment. i'm boring. this is my life. and sometimes i think, it's ok. it's ok that i'm a little soft in the middle and the girls aren't as perky as they were, and i'm respectable and can't drink much anymore and it's ok because i HAD a life. but now i think, fuck that. it's ok because i HAVE a life. and this is it. and who am i to want something "cooler"? What the hell does that even mean? cool? hot? whatever, man, i'm just trying to get by. and the best people i have met in a long time, the people that would be there for me for anything, that would throw down, that would put in the time and the energy and the love and the good, they're not wearing the skinny jeans and the boots and the scarves. i mean, some are, but most aren't. because when you stop worrying about whether or not you're cool enough, when you stop hoping to be seen in the scene, i think maybe you actually become the coolest fucking person in the room. and that's the scene i want to be seen in from now on. want to join me??