Am I Naked? Because I Think I'm Having a Nightmare.

So I started a new job.  Or third job.  I sort of work at a local comics shop, helping with promotions and working on the website, handling content.  That doesn't pay though. It's just a resume enhancer (plus occasionally getting to read things for free).

I lost my job delivering in September and that threw everything out of whack.  Since then I'd been living off of money that I'd borrowed months before.

I was pretty much down to the wire when I got a job. I'm doing delivery for a restaurant.  One of the owners was kind enough to speak to me for a few minutes when I walked in the door.  A week later the GM called to tell me I was hired.  Bare in mind there was no interview.  The guy talked to me informally, but I didn't have the time or forethought to ask basic questions which I now know I should have.

The thing is, I'm super neurotic. New jobs tend to highlight this aspect.  I get into a blind panic.  "What am I doing?  I can't wash dishes?  What if I fuck up??  What if I accidentally set the kitchen on fire??"  You get the idea.  Mostly this is retarded.  But sometimes you just know?  You know what I mean?  Sometimes you know something is not right, that it won't work out.  Sometimes YOU JUST KNOW.

I'd had this feeling of dread all week.  It started with the day I went in for "orientation".  I couldn't help but wonder what you need to orient a driver to.  I spent half an hour trying to learn their computer system, which wasn't even set up properly. The rest I spent rolling to-go forks into napkins.

This did not help the dread.

It got progressively worse as I waited on my first shift Friday.

I won't go into all the details, because it would take too long. But make no mistake, there is a long list of signs from the Universe not included here that scream GET. OUT.

I was being trained by the host. He's the poor guy that gets stuck making deliveries when they dont have a driver... which is ALL THE TIME.  See they only want me on Friday and Saturday.  Those are the only days when they have enough deliveries to support a driver.  Why?  Well, I asked someone if I was the only driver. His response was "Oh yeah. You might not even have any deliveries."  Umm. Excuse me? "Well you might have 2... or 4... or even 8."  Interesting fact: if you deliver for a living, 10-15 orders is a decent night. Any less than 10, especially on a weekend, is a SHIT night.

I quickly got the impression that these people were inadvertently telling me things I was not supposed to know this early in the game.  This restaurant has not existed more than a year at this location (the main branch still exists downtown) but apparently they've gone through drivers before.  That's "drivers", plural.  They can't keep a driver because they aren't set up as a delivery business. This is a restaurant.  They don't really know how to run deliveries as a formal business.  In my first 3 to 5 hours, I ran down a list of things that need to be done differently if they want to have a thriving delivery business.  Were I hired to do so, which I am not, I could advise them to that end.

Now all this sounds like typical "this isn't the job for me" shit, right? Hardly a "nightmare" as I described it. But that is where you would be wrong, my friends.

I had 5 deliveries that night.  It was about the time I was waiting on my first one that I was following my trainer to the kitchen. As we walked, my peripheral vision spotted something that made my brain say "Hey, pay attention asshole. Something massive is about to fuck you in the ass."  YOu ever wake up one day and realize you're a fucking loser who delivers pizza for one of the popular kids you went to high school with?  YEAH. THAT.

Let's call her Ginger.

GInger was the Queen Bee in my class.  And by "Bee", I mean "Bitch".  A lot of people disliked her.  To be fair, no one liked anyone in my high school. It was like if Rwanda was filled with assholes who drove Camaros and fought with humiliation bombs. And instead of burning children, got really drunk.  I'm not good at analogies.

ANyway, I never had a problem with Ginger.  She went her way, I went mine.  Never the 'tween shall meet.  UNtil Senior year when we had a class together and I developed a... crush isn't the word.  I developed a desire to be inside her.  Too subtle?  I wanted her to be on top of me imitating Charo yelling "Coochie Coochie!"  ... let's just move on, shall we.  This infatuation never went anywhere. Had I been a normal teenager, we'd have gone to separate colleges and moved on with our lives.  This did not happen. See I used to be an artist of some sort.  Senior year I took pictures of various classmates and drew illustrations of them.  She was one.

Now cut to 15 years later.  Life hasn't turned out the way I thought it would. I mean, I didn't get run over by a bus. I'm no longer a virgin... so that's good.  I never really felt like a loser when I delivered pizza. I mean, I knew it was a shitty job, but I made money and it was fun. And then it wasn't fun, but I still made money.  But here I am pumping gas for one of the rich kids from High School.  I can't tell you the kind of blind panic that hit me when I realized this.  It was like being struck down by Zeus' lightning bolt or face-fucked by Satan's cock.  I was half considering setting myself on fire and running out of the building screaming "I HAVE MONKEY A.I.D.S! RUN!" just to escape.

It's not even like I hate this girl. It's not about HER. I just can't take the humiliation of having such a menial job in her employment.  She left before we were forced to speak, thankfully.  But I'm sure she knew who I was. My name is far too unusual for someone who knew me for 5 years to forget.  She had to recognize it. UGH.

Oh, and to top it all off, I think one of the dudes hit on me. Actually, that was a highlight of the night. I mean, I'm not interested, but it's flattering. But with my luck it couldn't be a vaginal american.

So I don't know what to do. I need a job.  But I need to make money at that job.  And I don't want to feel like a loser, even if I am one.  What sucks is, I actually liked the people I met. Under more profitable circumstances, they would be a fun group to work with.

...I don't know.

Even Magic Needs Help

I was reading the Magic Blogorail today.  4 Bloggers each made a list of things they'd love to see updated at Walt Disney World.  I've been really sentimental about Disney lately and I don't know why.  Maybe it's because I've only been there once in the last 2 years, and then only for 3 days.  Or maybe it's because I want so badly to move on from this life and that was where I was happiest. Anyway, I thought I would play along.

(Some of these are the same attractions the blog posters mentioned.)

Magic Kingdom:  Tomorrowland Speedway needs to be fixed.  I've ridden it a few times. It's not just that it's boring (it kind of is).  The ride isn't even all that well done.  The actual ride should be smooth instead of bumping along the track to simulate driving (which it does not).  Call VW and maybe create something based on Herbie The Love Bug.

I'd also like to see a Muppet presence.  Maybe you could have Electric Mayhem playing Muppet songs. Or something involving the Muppet Babies.

EPCOT:   I think the Land &; the Seas both need work.  Soarin and Turtle Talk with Crush are both amazing, but a lot of the other attractions feel like they're lost in time. Keep the educational themes, but spruce them up. Also--- Captain EO is terrible.  TERRIBLE.  As much as I love Honey I Shrunk the Audience, I understand that most kids don't know that movie anymore.  But did they have to put this up? Give Michael Jackson's music a pavilion somewhere, but please please please replace Captain EO.

Hollywood Studios:  I think I heard they were ending the Backlot Tour.  It's been a joke for years, so that's good.  That frees up a lot of space.  They could use it to give Narnia a proper attraction.  Who wouldn't want to walk through a wardrobe into a magical Winter kingdom?  Do it justice, unlike the previous attraction.

They're finally taking down Sounds Dangerous.  I'd really like to see something The Incredibles here.  This is one of Pixar's best movies and it's been absent in attraction form this entire time.  And even though I know many would regard it as a Potter rip-off  (and it isn't an unfair comparison), Disney could put in a Percy Jackson ride/ attraction. They publish the books.

Animal Kingdom:  I kind of wish they would do a new version of Tapestry of Dreams here.

What I would most like to see is The Indiana Jones Adventure.  I understand that Disney wants Disneyland to have certain exclusive attractions, but IJA is one of the best things Disney has ever done. It sucks that you have to go to California to see it, because WDW will always win out on my Disney vacations.  I'm too poor to do both.

I'm sure there's more if I think about it, but I wanted to keep the list simple.

If I Could Grow Wings

Last night I was talking with a friend about the innate desires that drive us.

For him it was a desire to be competent in all endeavors and a need for freedom.  That is to say, a life that isn't scheduled.

I thought about it for a moment.  I'd never really tried to figure out what desire drives me.  And I suppose it's freedom too, in a way.  I hate sitting still in one place.  It makes me feel trapped.  I can't stand just sitting at home.  I always want to be out and elsewhere.  When I think about the happiest times in my life, they're all vacations.  They're me out in the world.

I am a nomad by nature.

I just want to travel all the time.  Cars, motorcycles, trains and planes.  I want to see the world in all it's shapes and forms.  I want to fly.

You meet these people whose job it is to travel cross-country all the time and they claim to hate it.  I could see that if I had a wife or children. I don't.  I'd love a job like that.

I'm not sure I'll ever be happy tied to one place.

short story: Take Me Down

I decided on a Tuesday morning.  I was so excited I ran all the way to school to tell him.  But for some reason, when I got there, I couldn't tell him.  This wasn't something you just blurt out.  This was important.  It had to be introduced with grace.  At the right time. In the right place.

So I told him at lunch in the cafeteria.  Between bites of my cherry pop tart, as he drew smiley faces in his mashed potatoes, I told Brian his destiny.  "I've decided to seduce you."  He managed to look up from his mashed potatoes after that. "wh--- huhhh--- what?"  No matter how it seems, Brian wasn't stupid.  Far from it. He was just... a boy.  And boys are just slow on the uptake when it comes to sex.  Fact of life, I suppose. 

But in every other way, he was just... rad.  Stupendous.  Perpendicular.  (It makes sense because I say so; sue me.)  He liked Tori Amos and Indiana Jones.   If you asked him whether he likes chocolate or vanilla he would say "Rocky road."  And most importantly, he was the only one who would jump off the big tree in the creek with me.  How can you not adore the boy who jumps with you?  And the best part was, he was still a hidden jem.  No one else looked beyond the skinny boy with the thatch of brown tangled hair and chest freckles.  No one but me.  I looked into those baby blues all the time.  Brian had kind eyes.  He was the kind of boy that other girls ignore until they're old and worn out and ready to settle down.  And then they spend the rest of their hag years bitching about how "all the good ones are either gay or taken".  Because they just assumed that boys like Brian would remain boys and wait for them.  Except they don't they grow into men.  And guess what bitches? You ain't the only game in town with a push-up bra and a pair of legs.  

I hate girls like that, and even then I was determined not to be one.  I was alway mature for my age, you know? Daddy always said I was "too big fer my britches."  He's old. He says things like that.  So, anyway... I basically told the boy that I own him.  Not that I needed to tell him that.

Do I have any choice in the matter?
Hmmmmm... no.  No I'm going to seduce you.
I see.  Why exactly?
Because I don't want one of these skeezy girls taking your virginity from you.  You need a girl with talent and experience to guide you into manhood.
Layla... you're a virgin too.
...  I meant EMOTIONAL experience.  Like... maturity, you know.

God, I was full of shit as a kid.  I was too proud to admit that I wanted HIM to make ME a woman.  I mean, I wasn't in love with Brian, buuuuuttt... I knew sex would be an issue soon.  I'd heard all these horror stories from my older sister and her friends about their first times.  I really didn't want to lose my virginity while crying in the back of a Volkswagon.  Brian was my best friend.  I knew he would be gentle and loving.  And somehow I knew it was important that we experience this together.   All these years later, I can honestly say I was right. And I have no regrets about that.

Sooooo... how are you planning to seduce me.
Oh, that's easy.  Like this:  come to my house after 11 and I'll fuck you.
That... that's it?  That's how you seduce me?
Is your dick hard?
...
See? You're seduced.  You're welcome.

Eleven o'clock on the dot, there was a knock at my window.   I opened it so he could come through.  Unfortunately, as nervous as he was, he tripped on the window sill and fell to the ground with a loud thud.  It's a miracle my Dad didn't burst through the door and kill him.  But I had my music on pretty loud.  I put on my Cranberries CD, both to muffle the sounds of our awkward humping, and to set the mood.  No Need to Argue was depressing, but mellow.  We were both a twitching bundle of nerves ready to snap at the slightest thing. Mellow was goooooood.

I... uhhh... I stole a condom from my Dad.  Should.... should I put it on?
Umm.... no.  Not yet. I got my sister to buy us some peppermint schnapps.  Wanna drink?
Uhhh... yeah.  Sounds like a plan.

We laid back on my bed like two kids having a sleepover, not even touching.  We drank and passed back and forth until the bottle was nearly empty.  And then the strangest thing happened.  We stopped thinking.  He looked at me with those blues and I melted.  I just knew he was going to kiss me, and I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything before.  Boys don't ever seem to know how important the kiss is to a girl... well... this one did.  I still have dreams about that kiss.  Maybe it was the schnapps.  Maybe it was his technique.  Or maybe it was just the feeling of being with the boy you're meant to be with. Whatever it was, he was an amazing kisser.

My eyes were still shut tight as I melted into him, when he broke the kiss and started to undress me.  Nothing was like I expected.  He didn't try to rip anything off or fumble with my bra; he took his time.  And as each article of clothing fell to my floor, he kissed me all over.  On my neck... my breasts... my belly button... my legs... and eventually my pussy.  When he was done giving me the tonguing of a lifetime, Brian looked up at me quizzically.  I nodded nervously, and he smiled. 

Brian knelt beside me and started taking his own clothes off.  It freaked me out a little when he removed his pants, and with good reason as it turned out.  Brian may not have had a whole lot of upper body strength back then, but as it turned out, all his muscle mass was in his third arm.  Woof. It was pretty stupid, but I didn't make him wear the condom.  I didn't care.  Those moments were magic.   Sure, at first, when he pushed in and broke my cherry it hurt.  And it was awkward.  His stroke wasn't nearly as nice as his tongue... but... there was something about being there with this boy inside me.  Yeah, magic.  That's what it was.  Because for all his inexperience, that was among the best sex I've ever had.  I still get tingles thinking about his big dick thrusting inside of me.  I cried as I held onto him for hear life, and he kissed my tears away.   I'll never forget, just as I started to cum, he said "I'm so glad it's you, Layla.  It's always been you."  

When it was over, I didn't want to risk cuddling and getting caught, so I sort of kicked him out.  I did, however keep his underwear as a trophy.

The next day I told Brian it was a one time thing.  That I loved him too much to become involved with him.  And suddenly all the light in those baby blues went out.   I thought for a moment that I had broken him, and I wanted to cry.   But he didn't get mad.  He was just hurt.  "That's bullshit.  You know it is."   And then he left; his words still haunting the air.

By shear luck, we managed to remain friends.  We stayed that way through the rest of High School.  Afterwards, I went to Vasser.  Brian... dear sweet Brian went to West Point to prove something.  Or so he told me.  "You may feel the need to prove yourself to everyone else... even you.  But you never have to prove anything to me.  I know how great you are."  He graduated top of his class.  We'd lost touch in college, but I was damn sure there for his Graduation.  And the after party.  And the drinking.   And let's just say... things happened.  Only this time he had learned tricks I hadn't even heard of.  And afterward, I didn't kick him out of bed.  We spooned as best we could on his tiny bed.  Our hot, perspiring skin sticking to each other all night long.  He kissed my neck and fondled me gently as I drifted off to the most comfortable sleep I'd ever had.  I've never felt so safe as in his arms.

But it wasn't going to last.  I tried to have "the talk" with him the next day over the breakfast he cooked for me.  He put his hand over my mouth before I could say it.  "Shhh.  I know.  I've always known."   We made love one more time after breakfast.  And then I left.

I lost track of Brian after that.  His Mom kept me up to date on the major beats.  He became a Flyboy.  F-16s.   Not long after the night we'd shared, he met his fiance`.  I even scored an invitation.   Never made it though.  Neither did he.   Brian was shot down over Afghanistan in 2003.  I barely held it together at the funeral.  Some military guy gave his Mom and the girl who would have been his widow a posthumous Purple Heart. He said Brian was a hero. It didn't make it any easier.

Sometimes I wonder if it's all a dream.  Like maybe this is all in my mind and Brian never really existed.   That would make it so much easier.  Then I could just wake up from this pain.  The pain of being truly, finally separated from him.  The pain of not knowing.

It's funny. Only now do I realize that I ended up just like those girls I'd despised.  My path was different than theirs.  I held Brian at arms length out of fear of growing up and facing the future.  But the truth is, I always thought he would wait for me.  It seems so silly now.  I never got to tell him how much I love him.  

A Pebble Adrift

Let me tell you about my little brother, Bobby.

Before he was born I used to pray for him. Literally, when he was a kid, I used to ask God to give me a little brother every night. And each night, at the end of each prayer, I promised I would be the best big brother there ever was. I was five at the time. A year later, God answered my prayers, and Bobby was born.

Of course, like all little kids, I had no idea what it was I'd committed to. I was used to being the baby of the family, and when Bobby started getting all the attention I began to resent him. It didn't help matters when Ma and Dad divorced and I was forced to babysit him while Ma worked long hours to keep us afloat. I was de facto man of the house and I hated every second of it. I hated being stuck with Bobby, with taking care of him and helping raise him, while everyone else my age was allowed to just... be. I hated it, and at times I hated him. A lot of my aggression at this crappy situation we found ourselves in was taken out on him. It kept us from being brothers. Instead I was a strict father figure, and it was like trying to squeeze sand in my palm. Typically, the tighter I squeezed, the more he rebelled. The more he rebelled, the stricter I became. I treated him like a kid. I never gave him a chance to grow up and be responsible for himself. I expected him to act like a child and he did; he never really grew up because I never let him. And so I blame myself for all of it.

Despite his untamed id, Bobby managed to find a nice life for himself. His wife Maria was everything that a man should want in a woman; beautiful, intelligent, graceful and funny, just the right amount of sass. My niece and nephew took after their Mom, but you could tell they were Bobby's kids by their eyes and that wild spirit. They were... they were the most beautiful things I ever saw in my whole life... I couldn't have loved them any more if they had been my own heart. Hell if they weren't.

After college, Bobby decided to follow in my footsteps. He got a job in the Chronal Variance Authority as a Monitor, looking for any chronal anomalies, any sign that someone was making an un-authorized time jump, or worse tampering with the timeflow. Of course we didn't technically work together. I'm a Level 9 Field Agent. So when he found someone playing dice with the Universe, it was my job to find them and stop them from breaking the timeflow if possible, or eliminate them if it wasn't. And Bobby was good at his job. He caught more unauthorized Jumpers than anyone in his department.

He was so good that the higher-ups decided he should be Head Monitor. I was in tears at his celebration party, realizing finally that he wasn't my little brother anymore. He was a grown man. "I'm so damn proud of you." I said. "I spent so much time waiting for you to screw up again that I never stopped to look at you. If I had, I would have seen how good a man and a husband and a father you've become. I'm so sorry I never recognized it." Yeah, I cried like a baby. He did too.

We stayed up most of that night talking. Too late, in fact. On the drive home, Bobby fell asleep at the wheel. Whether it was him or the drunk driver who was more at fault, no one can say. But it doesn't matter much anyway. Bobby barely had a scratch on him, and that made it so much worse. I was the first to get to the hospital. The first to see him. And when he told me, he could barely squeak the words out of his mouth, barely bring himself to say it... God... my heart was ripped out of my chest. As I held my baby brother to my chest, he kept asking over and over, "WHY????" I don't know if he was talking to me or God, but it didn't matter much. Neither of us had much to say that night.

The CVA tried to get Bobby to take a sabbatical, to get his head together. He refused. Sitting in that house just reminded him of their absence. There was no rest for him there with the ghosts of the past. He started staying at Ma's place just so he could sleep. The CVA reluctantly allowed him to go back to work. Unfortunately it didn't last long. He started showing up to work drunk. Not even just a little drunk. Many times he was so bombed out of his skull he could barely stand. And then one day, his boss John, an Overseer, told him to go home and sleep it off. And Bobby just snapped. His fist hit John in the gut with the impact of a prize fighter. Three of his coworkers tried to hold him down, but he fought like a mad man. By the time I got there, there was only one way I could think to subdue him. His face snapped back as my right cross hit his temple. He was on the ground and out. John told me to let him know he was fired when he woke. I carried him home knowing this would only make him fall apart even more. And I just wanted to fall apart too.

Bobby spent the next sixth months locked in the bedroom he'd grown up in. No booze. Very little food. Just him and three ghosts. And of course his regret. I guess Bobby got to thinking about time. I'm not sure why the idea didn't occur to him sooner.

They hadn't deactivated Bobby's codes yet. So it was a simple matter for him to get in. Of course, stealing a Jump Watch... that took skill. Or maybe just determination. So he turned the dial back a year. As soon as he jumped, I got the call. I set my own watch and went after him. I found him the next morning. He was watching his family, including himself, eating breakfast at Ma's house. I kept my distance and tried not to look in the window.

"Bobby... what have you done??"

He turned to me with a look on unbridled joy and relief and love. It was so simple and happy. I wanted desperately to join him.

"I saved them, Mike. I cut the battery wires on the car so we'd have to stay the night at Mom's house. They're alive, Mike. They're alive!" I wanted so badly to believe it. I wanted to run in that house and take them in my arms and tell them that I love them. But I knew it wasn't true. "You shouldn't have done it, Bobby. You don't understand.. you can't.." I could see the confusion on his face. The hurt at my words.

"I shouldn't have? What? I shouldn't have righted a wrong? I shouldn't have my family back??"
"There are rules..."
"To hell with your rules!!! Those are my damn kids in there! That is my wife! Your niece and nephew! MY GODDAMN CHILDREN! My babies! You're telling me they shouldn't get the chance to grow up??! To get married and have babies of their own?"
"The rules are in place for a reason!"
"Hang your rules! You and your damn rules! Ever since we were kids, that's all you've ever loved are rules! You don't love my kids! You just love you job. You want me to give up my family for a bunch of stupid rules? You are the most selfish son of a bitch I've ever met!!"
"You arrogant little punk. DO YOU THINK THIS ISN'T KILLING ME? I loved the three of them as much almost as much as you did. I would give anything. I would give my life if it would set it right! If they could... if they could just..."
"You don't have to, Mike! You can let this one go! We can have it all back!"
"You don't get it, do you? You have no idea what you've done. You haven't set anything right, Bobby. Isn't nearly as simple as you want to believe. Maria, Nikki, Alex... they're still dead."
"Wh.. what? No! What are you talking about? They're right there!"
"Look again. Look in the window, Bobby. You see that guy?"
"Yeah. It's me. The me from the past. Happy!"
"No, it's not. That's not you. Time isn't like a movie. You can't just put in an alternate ending. It a time "stream". Time is part of one cohesive Universal structure. It's sentient. It doesn't tolerate inconsistencies and paradoxes. We're in an alternate Universe. They're still dead."
"NO! No, take it back! You take it back!!!!" His hands pounded against my chest like a ten year old throwing a tantrum.
"There's rules, but I didn't make them. When you made a change to the timeline, you did more than save those people. The ripple changed the course of history. People will die because you changed the game. Babies won't be born. Empires will rise and fall over the course of human history, all because you cut some wires."
"But... I just..."
"I know. I'm sorry."

That was the final straw for him. Even after everything that he'd been through, that was all he could take. I could see it in his eyes. That was what finally broke him. "So... when we go back... they won't be?"

And he still hadn't gotten it. It was the worst moments of my life.

"There's no going back Bobby. For either of us. Like I said, the Universe knows what it's doing. When someone makes a change to the timeflow, the Universe sort of spackles over that person. You were replaced the second you clipped the battery. Your life will be lived out by that guy. You're unstuck in time. A Pebble adrift in the ocean."
"So... then what?"
"Did you know I've never eliminated a Jumper before? Killed I mean."
"I don't think I..."
"There's a reason for it. I've always caught the Jumpers before they changed the timeflow. Because once I eliminate a Jumper, I've made a change... and I become unstuck too."
"Mike? I'm your brother. Please? Please don't..."
"I don't have a choice. You don't know what happens to someone who makes a change. Jumpers who mess with the flow are purged. They're slowly disintegrated. Disappearing into nothingness. The pain is indescibable. If I do it... at least it won't be painful."

He didn't even respond. He just knelt in front of me. I sat down and held him in my arms, trying to burn that image in my mind. "I love you Mike." Then I took the syringe out of my pocket, and set him free. "I love you too little brother."

After stashing the body, I came out here, to the park. Nikki and Alex can't see me watching them. It's a risk though. But as I feel my body being torn apart, I don't care much. If I'm going to die, this is where I want to be. And I take a little solace in the fact that some part of them of will live on. And my niece and nephew will grow up, get married and have babies of their own.

It hurts so much. I'm glad Bobby didn't have to feel it. I hope I get to see him on the other side. I wonder what it'll fe..*

How to Spot a Hipster

I heard a joke not long ago.

Did you hear about the Hipster who died in the volcano?  He was into lava before lava was cool.

It's a pretty clever joke.  Funny because it's true, 'ya see? Hipsters are this generation's counter-culture, combined with the "meta".  They aren't counter-culture because society runs opposite of them.  They run in the opposite whatever direction society turns; rebels without a clue. They are contrary for contrary's sake. There is little I hate more than hipsters and all they represent.  But a few months ago, I notice something.  Suddenly everyone hates hipsters, even people that are clearly hipsters themselves.  And it occurred to me:
the final stage of hipsterism is to claim you hated hipsters before hating hipsters was cool.

It's almost enough to make your brain implode from the stupidity.

Since hipsters have decided to hide in plain sight, I've decided to make a list of things to help you spot one.  Upon spotting, feel free to beat them on the nose with a rolled up newspaper and yell "No!"

Hipsters:

-Like bands with stupid names that no one has ever EVER heard of.  Bands with names like Neutral Milk Hotel, Deathcab for Cutie, Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Philosophical Shmorgasboard and Bring Shannon Skechers. You'll hear them say things like "Have you heard the new Vaginal Anglican album? It's a-maz-ing!" And it isn't.  No band with a name like that could possibly be good. It's as if a dog ate a dictionary and these bands choose their names from whatever was left of what the dog shat. Whatsmore it's clear they choose the names precisely because they're so awful.  The other day, I read about a new kind of music called "dub step", and I thought "that can't be a real thing".  Who the hell knows what dub step is? No one with a job.

-Like things "ironically".  Except they don't, because that is a profound misunderstanding of the word "ironic".  Ironic and facetious do not mean the same thing.  The fact that these people don't know that, however, is ironic.  Furthermore, by declaring they like something ironically, what they are in fact saying is that they like pretending to like something they have deemed terrible both to make fun of the people who do like it and to point out how clever and *AHEM* ironic they are.  This is a complex way of saying you're a pretentious asshole and a complete fucking moron.

-Hate anyone and anything that is mainstream in popular culture.  I had an argument online once about the fact Nickelback.  This asswipe was telling me how uncool Nickelback is and that all the bands he listens too are a-maz-ing but will never be heard. (Which is really fine, because if they ever became popular he would have declared that he never listened to them.) I explained that I like Nickelback and I could care less if it's cool to like them, but that they were in fact "cool".  One of the definitions of cool as a slang term is popular.  Regardless of your personal opinion of the band, Nickelback made a lot of money. They were very popular.  It's math. Nevertheless all the little hipster bitches explained that I was uncool.

Hey, I hate KISS.  That doesn't mean that they aren't cool. I'm not the arbiter of popularity.

The point is, hipsters have a preternatural hate of anything popular. They have to like something before it's cool and then declare it and everyone around it a pariah as soon as it becomes discovered. Ever noticed how Dane Cook was the biggest comedian on the planet for 5 years and suddenly became a running gag for terrible comedians?  Not a coincidence.

-Use the word "douche" a lot.  "Ugh. That guy? Like, total douche."  A hipster's favorite insult is douche, and everyone and everything they hate are "totally douche-tastic"... or something.   Of course, there's nothing "douchier" than people who use the word douche all the time.  And that, friends, actually is ironic.

-Hate corporations like Apple but think Steve Jobs was this generation's Einstein.  And they declare their hate/love of such things on social networks like Facebook and Twitter. Also ironic.

-Use tweetspeak in real life (excuse me, IRL).  Epic, fail, FTW... other things I don't understand.

-Think Betty White is awesome in anything she does. Also, Ellen Page.   I don't get the Ellen Page thing at all.  Juno was kind of a funny, quirky film... at first.  When you watch it more than once, it's actually completely terrible. Or mostly, anyway.  And Page just isn't that great.  I guess it's because she's underrated to some people?  As for Betty White... well she is great. But the sudden love of all things Betty sprouted overnight.  Why? Because it's very weird and offbeat to tell people one of your favorite actresses is Betty White.  That's the only reason.  Of course no one talks about Betty White anymore. She was popular for too long.  Whatever, I still love me some Golden Girls. And even like Hot in Cleveland, or as I like to call it Golden Girls: The Next Generation (also applicable to Sex and the City).

-Make declarations about what is and isn't Punk Rock. And don't know anything about the origins and history of punk rock, which wasn't a fashion statement.


-Read Graphic Novels, but not Comics because Comics are for losers.  Never mind the fact that their favorite Graphic Novels are Watchmen and Sandman, neither of which are Graphic Novels. They're comics.

-Hate Country Music but somehow love Johnny Cash.  I once saw a message-board post from a kid who said that he hates Country and that he listens to Johnny Cash. He then declared that "No Johnny Cash does not count as country because he's mother-frakkin Johnny Cash!" I can't tell you how much this makes me want to go on a killing spree in a vinyl record store. In the words of Eric Church, the Man in Black would have whipped your ass. Ever since Walk the Line came out (which I loved) it's become counter culture to declare Cash one of your heroes.  The fact that he's dead only makes it more relevant.  I like Cash, but he's not the greatest Country Singer of all time.  And most of the people who claim him as a hero aren't familiar with a third of his catalog or even much outside the Walk the Line soundtrack, aside from A Boy Named Sue.  Cash is awesome. Willie Nelson is better.  It's just that he's alive and doesn't have a biopic.

----Here's the thing: I have nothing against people who don't like Apple or Dane Cook.  If you dig Ellen Page and Alan Moore comics, that's great. And I support anyone who listens to a classic Country artist like Johnny Cash. (Maybe look into Waylon, while you're at it.) My problem is with the motivation behind it.

There is nothing more useless than someone whose decision making process revolves around what is or isn't cool or bad ass.  You know what's cool?  Not being afraid to say that your favorite film is FAME or that your favorite bands are REO Speedwagon and Conway Twitty without adding silly qualifiers like "guilty pleasure".  Why should you be ashamed to like what you like?  Screw that.  Elitism is a fancy way of saying "self-absorbed and worthless".

You know what's bad ass? Getting a job and being a productive member of society; therefor not having time to worry about being cool.  Oh, and not giving a shit about what other people think.

Rant over.