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Worse than yuppies?

Posted by Mick on February 3, 2010 – 9:25 pm

I do not feel good.  Just letting you know up front, because it might just affect the entire tone of this…

This what?  What should we call these?  I’ve got to say, I despise using the word blog.  I’ll do it when I have to, but I really don’t like it and I don’t want to use it in my… well, it’s not really an article, is it?  A piece?  I think we’ll go with that.

I do not feel good.  Just letting you know up front, because it might just affect the entire tone of this piece.  I’m not sure I’m 100% in my right mind.  Then again, I’m probably never in my right mind.  Tonight I’m just differently out of my mind.

I have a bit of a rant in me tonight.  When you’re in traffic, and there’s a line of cars taking an off ramp, an on-ramp, or waiting to turn, why do so many people feel like it’s ok to drive up to the front of the line and merge in?  It’s one of my pet peeves, and pretty much every morning when I’m going to work, and every evening when I’m going home, I have to suffer through these inconsiderate assholes delaying my commute.  I guess I didn’t realize that you were so much more important than me.  If you’d just get in line, like the rest of us, this would go so much faster.  People like you cause the backup to begin with.  Every time someone goes to the front of the line like that, it causes the line to bunch up even more, because we all to wait for you to get in line.

Just so you know, if you do that when I’m near the front, I will not let you in.  I don’t believe you didn’t realize what was going on when you chose to bypass the line and drive on up to the front, and I’m not waving you in, and I’m hoping you miss your exit and have to loop around and do it all again.

I don’t like being that guy.  I really don’t.  I’m a considerate driver, I let people come out of the parking lot into the traffic stream whenever I can.  I make space for lane changers.  I’m a sweetheart when I’m driving.  Until you push me.  I don’t want to be rude, but if you’re rude, I can give as good as I get.  I can give better.

See what I mean about being sick?  Angry Mick is rearing his ugly head.  Want some more?  Because I’ve got some more.

I loved The Residents last night.  Absolutely loved it.  Except for one little thing.  There’s a virus in this town my friend.  And it’s not the yuppies.  The yuppies are bad and I wish they would all move back to San Fransisco or Los Angeles or Dallas or wherever they came from, but their is actually something worse than the yuppies… the hipster douchebags.

My spell checker is trying to tell me that douchebag is either two words or it’s hyphenated.  My spellchecker will have to learn to live with disappointment.

The show last night was infested with hipsters.  In one case, the hipsters even brought their progeny – I’m guessing they were 16-18 – to the show.  They stood behind us in line and bitched and moaned about being there so early and let’s go get something to eat where should we go and then the 18 year old hipster in training actually started explaining in great detail how he was going to brag to some other guy about seeing The Residents and oh you haven’t heard of them well I guess I have more indie cred than you do.

The first rule of indie cred is: If you say you have indie cred, you don’t.

My spellchecker is bitching about douchebag, but it lets me misspell “of” as “og”.  Because og is a real word.

As I was saying, I loved the show, except for all the people who came there to be seen rather than to see.  It was an experience.  What The Residents do is a little different from most concerts.  They tell stories, using music, lights, and video.  The band is down to three members now; a keyboard player, a guitar player, and a “singer”.  Some of the pieces last night involved movies of narrators, projected by the singer across several white discs hanging from the stage.  My favorite involved a girl who had fed her lover until her lover weighed over 1800 pounds.  She described the process, and her lover’s body, in great detail.  When the lover finally died from morbid obesity, the girl felt lost.  Her only purpose in life, her only pleasure, had been feeding her girlfriend.  It all ends happily when the ghost of her girlfriend begins to visit her.  Now, instead of feeding the girlfriend, she feeds herself while the girlfriend watches.

There were many ghost stories.  It was a theme, of sorts.

I liked it, anyway.  In spite of the loud mouth hipster behind me who wanted to know why they weren’t wearing “the eyeballs”.  That’s what SHE came to see.

I’m sorry, angry Mick is back. I think it’s time I curled up in bed with a good book.  I just started Stephen King’s Under the Dome: A Novel. I’m not far enough in to it to give an opinion, but I like how he’s setting the story up.

That’s all.  Be good to each other.

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