(Hopefully Not) The Best Part of Waking Up

Welp, it's official. I'm THAT GIRL. I've allowed Geo to drag me to a coffee shop to sit next to each other, while we both stare at our own computers. I'm like a wannabe-writer from 5 years ago. Geo convinced me to come by saying "J.K. Rowling used to sit at a coffee shop and write all day every day. Then she wrote a little book called Harry Potter." I dismissed him and said I'd never heard of the woman, but secretly, I wondered if Spyhouse Coffee would give me free coffee all day if I promised to sit here and write something really good.

So, I'm sitting at Spyhouse Coffee. Writing. I'm that jerk. My first attempt at putting together some writing samples for a couple little side projects went, um, not well. I came up with nothing. I just kept thinking "Man, I just wanna write my blog". So, I'm doing just that. Whatever works, right?

Sanna works at Spyhouse and she has told me that THE Josh Hartnett is kind of a "regular" here. I warned Geo, as we left the house, that if Josh Hartnett is here, I'm leaving him for Josh. Geo took one look at me, in my giant full-length down coat, carrying my 1,700 pound computer bag and he laughed right in my face. He then commented that maybe I should brush my hair first.

Alas, there is no Josh Hartnett. Just me and a bunch of other jerks sitting, typing, and drinking coffee. So cliche. Honestly, I don't know how people come to write anything, even an email, at these places. The music is LOUD. And it's music I hate. So, I've also got my iPod on, blaring the new T.I. album. I couldn't be more distracted. And yet, the blogging continues.

When I was home during college, I used to sit at this hipster coffee shop in Uptown with my friends all night. We weren't old enough to go to bars, so we'd drink Italian sodas as if they were cocktails, and cram ourselves into the back corner of Pandora's Coffeehouse while we'd talk about, like, how we couldn't stand living with out parents. We literally spent HOURS there at least 4 nights a week. I'm so glad I turned 21. Bars are far superior to coffeehouses. But, I guess, it's not totally awesome to be sitting at a bar for hours upon hours during the day. It would get pretty expensive, and people start wondering if you have a problem with the booze.

Anyway, I'm halfway through with my coffee, I'm growing more and more distracted by the people around me. There is a table of four people, each sitting in front of their own computer, each not speaking to each other. There is a line of people who ordered coffee and then drowned it in sugar and flavored creamer - why order coffee in the first place? There's a lot of hipster facial hair on the guys, and lots of layered scarves on the girls. Also, I don't know who ever said the newspaper business is dying, because apparently every person who comes to a coffee shop during the day reads a paper. Not even on a computer. That's one trend I definitely support. What's old is kitsch again...thanks, Hipsters. You very well may be keeping The New York Times in business.

I gotta hand it to the people here, though. No one has bugged me. No one expects me to leave my seat anytime soon. And, let's keep it real, I'm sitting here during the day writing a BLOG. To the other patrons here, I'm just a girl who probably doesn't have a job, who writes a blog about her feelings or other random crap, and who is probably wearing an Old Navy sweater to be ironic. Little do they know, though, I'm a girl who DOES have a job, who writes a blog about her feelings or other random crap, and is wearing an Old Navy sweater because she thinks it's cute and it was only $5. Suckers.

Okay, time to pack up and head out. I've successfully finished a blog, edited an essay for Geo, wrote some random writing projects, and checked in on Twitter for the first time in like a week. I feel both productive and relaxed. However, I've gotten nowhere on my novel about child wizards. Oh well, you win some, you lose some.

Good Thing Hipsters Don't Read Blogs Anymore

I looked up the meaning of “hipster” today. That’s right, I went to good ol’ urbandictionary.com just so I knew for sure what I was saying when I snarl “UGH, HIPSTERS". Turns out, too many hipsters are web-savvy and know how to enter their own meanings on urbandictionary.com. Here are some gems:

“The Hipster walks among the masses in daily life but is not a part of them and shuns or reduces to kitsch anything held dear by the mainstream. A Hipster ideally possesses no more than 2% body fat.”

“…a subculture of men and women typically in their 20's and 30's that value independent thinking, counter-culture, progressive politics, an appreciation of art and indie-rock, creativity, intelligence, and witty banter.”

Okay, so riddle me this, Hipsters. Where, in all the definitions of “hipster” does it say you have to be a total D-Bag whilst shunning conventions? I had the unfortunate opportunity to wait in line at the grocery behind two hipsters last night, and I gotta say: Idiots. Total idiots. The guy and the girl were trying to scan a loose apple. For like 5 minutes. And they dawdled around like they were the only people in store. The guy was wearing glasses with no lenses in them (I could tell, because he stuck his finger through the frames to rub his eye) and French-rolled jeans with an ironic Polo tshirt on, as if he's trying to say, “Take THAT, societal norms! I am dressing like an 80’s homeless person and it’s cool because I am NOT FITTING IN!!” Yes, bravo, young lad. You’re really proving to everyone that you are different. By wearing exactly what all the other hipsters wear. COOL.

I know not all hipsters are like this. I know that there's a breed of wannabe-Hipsters, or Whipsters, who probably give the good ol’ fashioned hipsters - the creative, eccentric, tight-pants-wearing, advertising-firm-working, A Clockwork Orange-reading pioneers - a bad name.

But, much like crazy people, these Whipsters flock to me like I’m a half-off sale at American Apparel. There was the couple at the grocery store, the guy with fake glasses (what IS it with the fake glasses!?) who spilled his beer all over me at the bar who shrugged and said “Guess I need a refill”, or the moron walking through the DON’T WALK sign while I’m making a legal right turn. When I yelled “Don’t Walk, Hipster! Can‘t you read?!” He yelled back “Reading is for the bourgeois!” Okay, fine, he didn’t yell that, but if he had even remotely acknowledged the world around him, I imagine that’s what he would have said.

The point is this: I don’t care what you wear, what music you listen to, what your political views are, or how many pairs of leggings you have. I really don’t. But for the love of God, have a little basic awareness of those around you. You’re no more special than I am. You’re not. I don’t care how many times you’ve been to the Salvation Army to buy your clothes, or how you‘ve refused to eat anything but soy since 2003…you can’t just la-di-da around the world and ruin my day. I’m not asking you to go to med school, or eat a burger, or even [gasp] buy an American car. I’m just saying that you’re kind of just acting like jerks. Let’s pull it together, shall we?

(As an added bonus, and if there’s any question left as to what a “hipster” looks like, allow me to direct you to Look at this F&*#@!% Hipster for some ridiculous examples. It’s an awesome time suck, though not for people who are easily offended. For the record, this website was introduced to me by a rad dude who is, arguably, a hipster, Geo’s friend Guam.)