Every so often a bizarre fad comes along to piss off parents and force individuals to question the trajectory of American culture. In my short life I have witnessed gray-haired women using furniture as weapons in hopes of acquiring a stuffed toy, known as a Beanie Baby. I can remember running underground pog-related gambling rings in elementary school. However, one component of counter-culture has chiseled its way into college campuses and succeeded in frustrating and confusing non-members of the hipster clan.
A hipster, in layman's terms, is a dick. A hipster is obsessed with going against the grain of modern society and forging their own unique style, taste and fashion. To achieve such individualism it is required to dress like a drunk 4th grader on Halloween and then hanging out with people who look like drunk 4th graders on Halloween. Thus, asserting your unique style. Now, dressing like Goodwill took a shit on you is just the first phase.
The second phase is slightly more complex and requires quite a bit of research and development. Phase two involves discovering music that no one has ever heard of, making fun of people for their lack of sophistication due to the fact they have never heard the obscure band, and then abandoning said artists after they become successful for producing music you used to enjoy.
It's understandable that a hipster wants to stay ahead of the pack and drive the future of pop-culture. Unfortunately, hipsters are rude, conceited, self-destructive and worst of all they are pack animals. If a hipster really wants to do the whole "ironic" thing, try dressing like the average Joe. Hell, you would be so far in disguise, that you could trick your other hipster friends into thinking you're no longer a hipster. A hipster dick slap.
Until then, move to New York, start a microbrewery, and write a formal letter of apology to your parents on how they wasted their money sending you to college to drink PBR, smoke American Spirits, and grow mustaches.
Leave me some feedback.
I'll set the pace. You know you're a hipster when...
Your V-neck goes down to your belly button so everyone can see your awesome pirate tattoo.
You ride a single speed to class to save gas and your parents own a share of Exxon and drive a WWII Panzer Tank.
You grew an ironic mustache in college because you were unable grow facial hair in high school.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
My School Isn't Filled with Guidos... Well, Maybe it Is: Part 1
In the four (plus) years that I have attended Texas State, I have heard a myriad of attributions involving the reputation of my university. Some say, "you need a 6-pack and a pulse to get into to Texas State," or "I guess you couldn't get into a real school?" None of these statements come even close to the disappointing realization that my beloved school has been infested with the lowest common denominator of the party scene. Fist pumping, club fighting, gel haired guid-necks.
To hate the guido, one must understand the guido and delve into the arcane art of guidology. The word guido traces its roots to over a thousand years ago. It was originally a given surname popular to Italians. In the early 1900's the word, guido, came to America, where it was used as a slang term that Nationalists used to let Italian immigrants know that the majority of Americans hated them.
Like any great racial epithet, the Italians began to own up to the guido name. By the late 1980's using guido amongst other guidos became socially acceptable, as long as you were Italian. However, the 1988 guido and the modern-day guido are vastly different. In a sense, the guido has evolved. Many scholars use "Bounce," a single by techno/house group MSTRKRFT as the great schism that knocked down the cultural boundaries of only allowing Italians to be guidos. Shortly after the release of "Bounce," in December of 2009, a cultural phenomenon took insecure short people by storm and gang-raped it's way across the nation. The critically acclaimed masterpiece, Jersey Shore debuted on MTV. A show about 5 Italians and 4 other people who think they are Italian that get drunk and make silly faces.
Due to the dominance of Jersey Shore, anyone can be a guido. You just have to be super macho. For example: going to a tanning bed (incredibly macho), taking a shit-load of time to do your hair (macho as hell), going to the gym with your bros and grunting (shit-macho), and finally wearing shirts with awesome designs all over them that were totally bad-ass when you were 12-years-old (macho-supreme).
Now, this was all good for me. Watching Jersey Shore was like watching a zoo special on Discovery Channel. New Jersey is over 2000 miles away from my beloved San Marcos. College life was simple and gel/spray tan-free. Then another schism erupted seemingly out of nowhere, energy beers. Energy beers come in all colorful shapes and form, they are now illegal. They are the number one cause of date-rape, colorful vomiting, and alcohol poisoning.
I was very apprehensive the first time I ever drank a Joose and the now legendary Four Loko. These bad ass concoctions are infused with caffeine and around 10% alcohol by volume, and every macho-dude knows that beer tastes like horse piss and takes entirely too long to get drunk off of. Thus, energy beers took hold in the college ranks.
Now the science, Four Loko + Short Guys x Techno Music / Spray Tans + Steroids = 1.35 Guido. Through spontaneous evolution (right ingredients in the right environment) a new group of people of subhuman crawled its way to the top of the Texas State and subsequently Austin bar scene (sorry about that one Austin).
This concludes Part 1. Next will be Part 2: Denial
To hate the guido, one must understand the guido and delve into the arcane art of guidology. The word guido traces its roots to over a thousand years ago. It was originally a given surname popular to Italians. In the early 1900's the word, guido, came to America, where it was used as a slang term that Nationalists used to let Italian immigrants know that the majority of Americans hated them.
Like any great racial epithet, the Italians began to own up to the guido name. By the late 1980's using guido amongst other guidos became socially acceptable, as long as you were Italian. However, the 1988 guido and the modern-day guido are vastly different. In a sense, the guido has evolved. Many scholars use "Bounce," a single by techno/house group MSTRKRFT as the great schism that knocked down the cultural boundaries of only allowing Italians to be guidos. Shortly after the release of "Bounce," in December of 2009, a cultural phenomenon took insecure short people by storm and gang-raped it's way across the nation. The critically acclaimed masterpiece, Jersey Shore debuted on MTV. A show about 5 Italians and 4 other people who think they are Italian that get drunk and make silly faces.
Due to the dominance of Jersey Shore, anyone can be a guido. You just have to be super macho. For example: going to a tanning bed (incredibly macho), taking a shit-load of time to do your hair (macho as hell), going to the gym with your bros and grunting (shit-macho), and finally wearing shirts with awesome designs all over them that were totally bad-ass when you were 12-years-old (macho-supreme).
Now, this was all good for me. Watching Jersey Shore was like watching a zoo special on Discovery Channel. New Jersey is over 2000 miles away from my beloved San Marcos. College life was simple and gel/spray tan-free. Then another schism erupted seemingly out of nowhere, energy beers. Energy beers come in all colorful shapes and form, they are now illegal. They are the number one cause of date-rape, colorful vomiting, and alcohol poisoning.
I was very apprehensive the first time I ever drank a Joose and the now legendary Four Loko. These bad ass concoctions are infused with caffeine and around 10% alcohol by volume, and every macho-dude knows that beer tastes like horse piss and takes entirely too long to get drunk off of. Thus, energy beers took hold in the college ranks.
Now the science, Four Loko + Short Guys x Techno Music / Spray Tans + Steroids = 1.35 Guido. Through spontaneous evolution (right ingredients in the right environment) a new group of people of subhuman crawled its way to the top of the Texas State and subsequently Austin bar scene (sorry about that one Austin).
This concludes Part 1. Next will be Part 2: Denial
Sunday, August 14, 2011
My School Isn't Filled with Guidos... Well, Maybe it Is: Part 2
Now that the fundamentals of science have been applied, we move onto the next phase of guidonomics. Similar to drug addiction, the next plausible stage is denial. Merriam-Webster defines denial as a refusal to admit the truth or reality; or a negation in logic. Negating logic was precisely what I had been involuntarily executing in my subconscious. How could the patrons of a school in the middle of the Texas Hill Country be so obsessed with acting like giant douches while getting their "drink on" at the "club?" Why was it necessary to spray tan and spend countless hours at the gym getting "swoll?" Thusly, when something makes little sense to me, I deny it's existence. My school isn't filled with guidos... Unfortunately, my denial doesn't erase facts.
A journey to the rec was like time-traveling to the St. Louis Cardinals club house circa 1997. To put it lightly let's just say I understand why some folks enjoy Joose so much. That being said, I am not a doctor (or remotely close) but I understand the importance of taking care of your body, but modifying your "sanctuary" synthetically cannot be safe. Anyway, upon my arrival at the gym, I would swim my way through the barrage of back acne, sweet well-kempt facial hair and cut-off Ed Hardy t-shirts to do my 20 minute run on the elliptical, followed by a few pick up games of basketball. Understandably, the rec center had become the capital of the Guido Chapter at Texas State. So, my voyage took me elsewhere.
The bar scene of San Marcos and later 6th Street in Austin have always been near and dear to my heart. Something about a $4.50 beer that you have to wait in line for just makes it taste that much better than a bitch-ass store bought beer. Again, times were simple and good. We would laugh at bars like Waterdogs that would open and close as fast as a shitty Asian buffet.
Seemingly out of nowhere came The Vault, a club that many in my cabinet thought would set the record for the quickest failed investment on the Square. I was mistaken. The Vault thrived. In fact, The Vault became popular and usually had a line like it was the damn Roxbury.
Being the curious investigator I am, I waited in line to see what this place was all about. The adjudication was typical. I hadn't smelt so much Axe Body Spray since going to family dinner with my stoner friends sophomore year of high school, the music was loud and above all and annoying as hell, and last but not least, everyone in their looked like MMA fighters. So, The Vault could possibly be the worst place in the world for someone like me, unless of course, I wanted to get my ass kicked by over aggressive gym rats with confidence issues.
So the jury met and the verdict issued. My school is filled with guidos, and I have to accept the fact. However, tolerance and acceptance are two different beasts. I can accept that their are gel-heads running around my campus, but one may tolerate another person but not accept them. I believe this is precisely the fork in the road at which I have arrived. It is difficult for me to accept someone whom is so infatuated with his own body that he would sleep with himself if that was somehow possible. I can sit idly by and tolerate said individual without the need to accept him.
Maybe one day I will be able to fully understand and eventually accept the guido, but until then they are just a shitty fad like Furbees, Pokemon and Kid n Play. This concludes the 2nd and final entry of the guido trilogy.
Do I smell tweed and ironic mustaches? That's a sweet single speed Schwinn...
A journey to the rec was like time-traveling to the St. Louis Cardinals club house circa 1997. To put it lightly let's just say I understand why some folks enjoy Joose so much. That being said, I am not a doctor (or remotely close) but I understand the importance of taking care of your body, but modifying your "sanctuary" synthetically cannot be safe. Anyway, upon my arrival at the gym, I would swim my way through the barrage of back acne, sweet well-kempt facial hair and cut-off Ed Hardy t-shirts to do my 20 minute run on the elliptical, followed by a few pick up games of basketball. Understandably, the rec center had become the capital of the Guido Chapter at Texas State. So, my voyage took me elsewhere.
The bar scene of San Marcos and later 6th Street in Austin have always been near and dear to my heart. Something about a $4.50 beer that you have to wait in line for just makes it taste that much better than a bitch-ass store bought beer. Again, times were simple and good. We would laugh at bars like Waterdogs that would open and close as fast as a shitty Asian buffet.
Seemingly out of nowhere came The Vault, a club that many in my cabinet thought would set the record for the quickest failed investment on the Square. I was mistaken. The Vault thrived. In fact, The Vault became popular and usually had a line like it was the damn Roxbury.
Being the curious investigator I am, I waited in line to see what this place was all about. The adjudication was typical. I hadn't smelt so much Axe Body Spray since going to family dinner with my stoner friends sophomore year of high school, the music was loud and above all and annoying as hell, and last but not least, everyone in their looked like MMA fighters. So, The Vault could possibly be the worst place in the world for someone like me, unless of course, I wanted to get my ass kicked by over aggressive gym rats with confidence issues.
So the jury met and the verdict issued. My school is filled with guidos, and I have to accept the fact. However, tolerance and acceptance are two different beasts. I can accept that their are gel-heads running around my campus, but one may tolerate another person but not accept them. I believe this is precisely the fork in the road at which I have arrived. It is difficult for me to accept someone whom is so infatuated with his own body that he would sleep with himself if that was somehow possible. I can sit idly by and tolerate said individual without the need to accept him.
Maybe one day I will be able to fully understand and eventually accept the guido, but until then they are just a shitty fad like Furbees, Pokemon and Kid n Play. This concludes the 2nd and final entry of the guido trilogy.
Do I smell tweed and ironic mustaches? That's a sweet single speed Schwinn...
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