Sorry I’ve been so MIA lately. Like any true hipster I’ve been struggling with existential crisis after existential crisis so naturally my priorities were as follows:
1. Figure out who I am, what my purpose is, and the meaning of life.
2. Blog.
But I decided to give up on my search for meaning. I’m just a kid. I’m just going to do things that kids do or something.
So that brings us to number two on my priorities list, resolving the US conformity crisis. I’ve been racking my brain all week to think of the perfect hip tip for you all but have failed miserably. However, I did have a hipster-related revelation and that’s what I’ll be sharing with you today.
Alright, so my epiphany occurred this morning. I woke up at a completely reasonable hour, a rare occurrence for this (and most) young hipster[s]. When I saw that my clock read 9:24, I was convinced that today was going to be a great day. But alas, my bliss proved to be as ephemeral as ever, for upon exiting my bedroom, I was practically ASSAULTED by the aroma of Thanksgiving food. Embittered by the fact that my new found positive outlook had been so unfairly wrenched from my grasp, I vowed that this year I would defeat Thanksgiving. There was no way I was going to let myself succumb to the hatred and anxiety festering in that kitchen. I was going to barricade myself in my room and watch Boy Meets World for the next 15 hours. I genuinely thought my plan was foolproof, but in retrospect that may have been a consequence of the double-dose of Mucinex-D I had coursing through my body. Anyways, halfway through the episode, it dawned on me just how hungry I was. I knew there was no way around this one. Thanksgiving had, once again, emerged victorious. By 9:47 I was trudging my vanquished hipster self down the stairs.
I know this all seems really really dramatic, but I’m really really not kidding. This was precisely my train of thought this morning the minute I realized what god awful holiday it was. Thanksgiving causes every fiber of nastiness that my family tries moderately hard to suppress all year to surface. I have no idea why. It isn’t as though we’re cooking for anyone outside our immediate family but should any outsider witness the pandemonium that takes place in my house, he or she would most likely come to the conclusion that we’re trying to prepare a meal for 50 canonized saints, the Queen of England, and 30 terminal orphans with only half of the necessary supplies and a Bic lighter as our only kitchen appliance. It’s sheer madness. Every year, without fail, tears are shed in that kitchen before noon. This year it was my Mom, the stress of the stuffing proved to be too much for her.
I know all of this seems completely unrelated to hipsterdom, but I’m getting there.
So as I sat in the kitchen, eating my pancakes and watching my family's already fragile sense of stability fade into lunacy, I realized that my family is certifiably insane. Individually we are all relatively functional people, still completely insane just not the kind of insane that you can really diagnose. However, when we’re together, we’re a problem so ridiculously complicated, we would cause the most renowned of psychiatrists to give up their practice.
Alright, so if by some miracle I still have your attention after 600 words of exaggerated nonsense, I’m finally ready to explain what this has to do with your indie-fresh self. So, without further ado......my revelation isssssss........
Psychotic families breed hipsters.
Seriously, think about all of the hipsters you know...they all have a really bizarre family life! It doesn’t necessarily have to be a good or bad family dynamic, just an offbeat one. Take my family for example. We have my new-age, yoga crazy mother who is married to my super old fashioned, conservative father....which is already a sitcom in itself. Add a roller-skating, checkers-loving, woman-fearing eleven year old boy, a fourteen year old who seems so unbelievably normal that she clearly must be hiding something, a socially-awkward, lanky, vegetarian cross-country runner who is secretly the funniest person in the world, and myself...pure TV gold.
But do you see what I mean? Growing up around that kind of craziness, if I hadn’t developed a hipster I would probably have been institutionalized by now. Well, probably not. But the hipster child is essential to the functionality of any crazy family. The hipster child serves as an outlet for the rest of the families suppressed eccentricities. As the hipster daughter, I am a tangible emulation of the craziness that is my family.
Now while most everything I just said can and should be disregarded, the overall message I was trying to get across is that hipster-ism is not just nature, it's nurture.
So on that semi-intelligent note, I’m going to sign off. But since not one tip was provided in that entire monologue, I’ll leave you with this:
Tip #13: This thanksgiving, spend the entire meal griping about the capitalist joke that is all traditional American holidays.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Colonization for the win!
1. Figure out who I am, what my purpose is, and the meaning of life.
2. Blog.
But I decided to give up on my search for meaning. I’m just a kid. I’m just going to do things that kids do or something.
So that brings us to number two on my priorities list, resolving the US conformity crisis. I’ve been racking my brain all week to think of the perfect hip tip for you all but have failed miserably. However, I did have a hipster-related revelation and that’s what I’ll be sharing with you today.
Alright, so my epiphany occurred this morning. I woke up at a completely reasonable hour, a rare occurrence for this (and most) young hipster[s]. When I saw that my clock read 9:24, I was convinced that today was going to be a great day. But alas, my bliss proved to be as ephemeral as ever, for upon exiting my bedroom, I was practically ASSAULTED by the aroma of Thanksgiving food. Embittered by the fact that my new found positive outlook had been so unfairly wrenched from my grasp, I vowed that this year I would defeat Thanksgiving. There was no way I was going to let myself succumb to the hatred and anxiety festering in that kitchen. I was going to barricade myself in my room and watch Boy Meets World for the next 15 hours. I genuinely thought my plan was foolproof, but in retrospect that may have been a consequence of the double-dose of Mucinex-D I had coursing through my body. Anyways, halfway through the episode, it dawned on me just how hungry I was. I knew there was no way around this one. Thanksgiving had, once again, emerged victorious. By 9:47 I was trudging my vanquished hipster self down the stairs.
I know this all seems really really dramatic, but I’m really really not kidding. This was precisely my train of thought this morning the minute I realized what god awful holiday it was. Thanksgiving causes every fiber of nastiness that my family tries moderately hard to suppress all year to surface. I have no idea why. It isn’t as though we’re cooking for anyone outside our immediate family but should any outsider witness the pandemonium that takes place in my house, he or she would most likely come to the conclusion that we’re trying to prepare a meal for 50 canonized saints, the Queen of England, and 30 terminal orphans with only half of the necessary supplies and a Bic lighter as our only kitchen appliance. It’s sheer madness. Every year, without fail, tears are shed in that kitchen before noon. This year it was my Mom, the stress of the stuffing proved to be too much for her.
I know all of this seems completely unrelated to hipsterdom, but I’m getting there.
So as I sat in the kitchen, eating my pancakes and watching my family's already fragile sense of stability fade into lunacy, I realized that my family is certifiably insane. Individually we are all relatively functional people, still completely insane just not the kind of insane that you can really diagnose. However, when we’re together, we’re a problem so ridiculously complicated, we would cause the most renowned of psychiatrists to give up their practice.
Alright, so if by some miracle I still have your attention after 600 words of exaggerated nonsense, I’m finally ready to explain what this has to do with your indie-fresh self. So, without further ado......my revelation isssssss........
Psychotic families breed hipsters.
Seriously, think about all of the hipsters you know...they all have a really bizarre family life! It doesn’t necessarily have to be a good or bad family dynamic, just an offbeat one. Take my family for example. We have my new-age, yoga crazy mother who is married to my super old fashioned, conservative father....which is already a sitcom in itself. Add a roller-skating, checkers-loving, woman-fearing eleven year old boy, a fourteen year old who seems so unbelievably normal that she clearly must be hiding something, a socially-awkward, lanky, vegetarian cross-country runner who is secretly the funniest person in the world, and myself...pure TV gold.
But do you see what I mean? Growing up around that kind of craziness, if I hadn’t developed a hipster I would probably have been institutionalized by now. Well, probably not. But the hipster child is essential to the functionality of any crazy family. The hipster child serves as an outlet for the rest of the families suppressed eccentricities. As the hipster daughter, I am a tangible emulation of the craziness that is my family.
Now while most everything I just said can and should be disregarded, the overall message I was trying to get across is that hipster-ism is not just nature, it's nurture.
So on that semi-intelligent note, I’m going to sign off. But since not one tip was provided in that entire monologue, I’ll leave you with this:
Tip #13: This thanksgiving, spend the entire meal griping about the capitalist joke that is all traditional American holidays.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Colonization for the win!
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