Audiophilic Poop Youths

I went to the final day of the Pitchfork Music Festival on Sunday. This was my first year to not attend all three days. I had a stand-up gig in Michigan (see post “Dinner Comedian”). It went well by the way, and I made a great new friend. Thanks, Adam, for the invite. And thanks Jo and Jim for being such gracious hosts.

Anyhowsers, much like the Man Man concert in which post-teen suburbanite trash and collegiate wasteoids knocked each other around like a bunch of retarded hamsters starved and trapped in a shoebox, Pitchfork revealed to me just how void of style, culture, thought, taste and deoderant today’s youth are. Brace yourselves…Old Man Ecker is in town and he brought his soap box,  rocking chair and a yarn he’s going to knit and knit and knit.

Plastic sunglasses? The neon-colored kind? And now ones that flip and convert to regular glasses? These aren’t new. He-man gave me a pair at the Texas State Fair in 1987. I probably had a whole cubby hole in my closet full of them. They were made for sitting on and losing in couch cushions. They are not a fashion statement. They are not cool. And they are especially not cool when half of an entire batallion of indie kids are littering a Chicago park with said fashion motif. So take them off already and get a job, punks!

Then there’s the hair. The hair! Really? Really! I thought subversive subcultures were supposed to have something going for them. Art. Bohemian tastes. Something! But you all had long hippie hair or toned-down mohawks or (egads!) normal boring hair! Can’t you find something to attach yourself to, as far as folicles go! How I long for something as retarded but as original as the faux hawk. Sure, it was the corporate version of a punk rock do, but it spoke loudly of an ideology. It said, “Hey! I’m going to kick the shit out of you with my steel-toed boots…right after I finish typing up this QC report on the Johnson account that needs to go to Fran in compliance stat!” So in short, you kids need to really get together and dream up something to put on your empty heads…oh, and get a job!

I always enjoyed Pitchfork not only for the music but for the fascinating buffet of various fashions, some borrowed from classic styles, some borrowed from current trends and some completely original…but always working, creating a harmonious and pretty holistic look. Not this year! Maybe it’s the economy, but when girls are wearing capes made of weather balloons (see bottom of this post), you know there’s desperation in the air…and maybe rain, depending on what the weather balloon says. These twits are still wearing thrift store shirts that say things like “Plaxico Glass Installation.” Who cares? What is cool about that. You need a shirt that bad, so bad that you don’t give a shit what it has on it? I’ll wipe my butt with a shirt and you can wear that. I’ll even make words out of my poo. Here’s a design I just shat out, “J&R Heating and Air.” Brilliant! And relevant! (to no one) Other walking fashion nightmares included mishmashing multiple colors that all looked like shades of puke as if the more clashing an outfit had the more inventive it is. Imagine vibrant purple tights with a yellow skirt and a a green top. You may as well douse yourself in radiation in the hopes your body glows in the dark or your skin turns green or something. That’d be cool, and you’d probably die. Oh, and get a job!

I don’t consider these…these things hipsters, if you think I’m just bashing hipsters. They aren’t. They are whatever is next in line to take the throne of indie, esoteric-loving subculture youths. Face it. Our generation’s hipsters are going the way of the dinosaurs (and the Gen Xers). We’re beginning to own businesses, buy homes and birth babies. Sure, we still have tight jeans and drink PBR. But we do these things on the weekends, after we’ve finished brushing our cats, calling our moms and helping our spouses with painting the bathroom. It will happen to these little turds to. I just hope they don’t squander this chance to really be relevant before they’re brushed aside and seen as some old man telling them to….


I'm a professional weather balloon!

I'm a professional weather balloon!


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