Thursday, March 18, 2010

An owde to ze threeft stores.

Let us hear it for the thrift store
oh secondhand place
you ruin me for malls
you cause my wallet to rejoice

You contain so many things
Shoulder pads
Stirrup pants
Acid wash jeans
Counterfeit handbags
Mugs shaped like evil dwarves
These things make me die inside

But you bring me back to life with weird handkerchiefs
and gypsy scarves
and ancient silverware
and new skinny jeans for three dollars
and knee-high leather moccasin boots
and a REALLY FUNNY cross-section
of the homo sapiens

You are the greenest thing going
And I like you a lot

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Basshunter, urban outfitters,yelling at hipsters,and other deep things.

this is jimi. (hendrix) you knew that, didn't you.

I sit here with my feet on a warm dryer, in which is a pair of freshly dyed lime green shorts, waiting to be pinstriped with a fabric pen. also a v-neck t-shirt.

Which brings me, in a roundabout way, to peer pressure. Things like v-necks, and Switchfoot, and Tim Burton, enjoy a period of huge popularity, often due to real worth and merit and artistry, and then become uncool. Why? Sometimes, yes, it is due to a real decline in their quality. More likely, they are "old".

Here is my thought:
so what.
why should that decrease their worth?

If you claim to dislike something because other people dislike it, because it's old, not because you have decided you personally are tired of it, or that it isn't good for you:

1. you feel like a two-face (because you really do still like it.)
2. you begin a (small) (dangerous) habit of letting your peers or parents or profs dictate your loves.

I am not saying you have to always like the same things, or that you should love a store only because the rest of the populace doesn't, or that we should not investigate new music or styles or artists or ideas or kinds of washing machines. And yes, I know the opinions of our culture and society influence us somewhat whether we like it or know it or not. You are steeped in your era. Yes, you. Yes, me.

yours truly is sick of this snobbery, this silliness I am guilty of myself.
of throwing the baby out of the bathwater of cool because he's getting gray hairs.
of the feeling you get when you lose sight of your own tastes.
If you like Basshunter, or Urban Outfitters, or Nike, or polka-dot socks, or boot-cut jeans, or cowboy hats, or hardcore, or even that Delilah radio show, ok. I like a few of those myself. you can figure out which ones on your own. as for yelling at hipsters, look up toothpaste for dinner.

Liking something for what it is worth, because it made you cry, or think on God, or remember, or tap your foot.....well, just try it. and if you do that already, thank you for existing. you're out there, i know.

Songs of the dia: Red House, by Jimi Hendrix, naturally, and Watching the Planets, by The Flaming Lips.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

mreeb.(s) also squee.

I was tired and annoyed in the brain the other day, and realized how long it had been since i had blogged. possibly a factor, since writing lets out all the crabby juices.

GUESS WHAT. ITS SPRING. heather says it isn't till the twentieth, but heather is shorter than me, so she can't be right.

There has been a lot of Hard Times lately. meaning the place. we saw a fellow walking in with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, no apparent reason.

you know how i know its spring? Number one, it is rainy. Rain after months of snow tells my brain to run the slide show of squishy grass and camp shetek and lazy excursions with the windows down and a distinct lack of school. Also, when I walked out of Middlebrook today, by the door was a patch of all the cigarette butts people had smoked, buried in the snow, and forgotten. Since that substance melted,they are all living in a big commune on the sidewalk now. I laughed.
hey, did you know there's this girl who recycled cigarette butts into clothing? too lazy to fix that link.

song of day. an old old old oldie. the shadow proves the sunshine, switchfoot. or as my pater calls them, twitchfoot.

so long. there might be more coherent writing later. when there are cats in my lap.