I went to an indie rock show last night.
You know the kind--the tiny bar is filled to capacity and that's 30 people, the smoke hovers like fireworks have been lit in a confined space--that kind of show. The girls all have haircuts that look as if students at dog grooming school were given a chainsaw and some uppers, the boys' jeans are probably girls jeans and they all have floppy hair and t-shirts with nonsensical phrases across them, selling product that hasn't actually been produced since 1986.
I, of course, was in J.Crew and a pair of Rainbows.
Strike one, yuppie.
But I do have plastic framed glasses. Real ones. With a prescription. That I wear.
Ooooh cool.
And so there I was. The Hipsters all chain-smoked and drank PBR tall boys. Why is PBR the new beer for Hipsters? Must they really rebel against the audacious oppression that is Really Kickass Microbrews? Did their parents one day say, "Son! You must drink this hand-crafted Pale Ale made just down the street!' and the son said, "FU dad I'm going to drink this shitty midwest beer! In a can!" and then dad cried.
Way to rebel.
And then there was the music. The first band was, of course, people I know (score a point) who played very loud instruments and jumped around and sang earnestly songs in which I could only understand one out of ever six words. Translating Hipster songs is like trying to understand Telemundo. Now I suffer from a grave affliction called No Seriously Stop Dancing and it flares up mightily in the presence of Hipsters, what with their European looking shoes and really interesting names and all. They all dance as if they are getting repeatedly shocked by a low-voltage taser and though this looks relatively easy, I still can't do it. So I have to restrain my urge to snap (why snap? Lose a point) and just sort of bounce to the screaming guitars and angst pouring out over the crowd. Of 30 people.
The show didn't start til 11:30, which is usually when I'm climbing under the covers, not waiting to see the opening band. But I stayed awake and only yawned once, which I guess is a mortal sin from the looks I got. Can't help it. Work night. I came home smelling like Natural American Spirit cigarettes and the bizarre hipness of national beer and may have pulled a muscle in my leg not dancing but all in all it was a fun night.
If you can be hip enough for it.
4 comments:
Don't forget, you and were drinking PBR out of cans in my basement on Wednesday night!
I will drink PBR if it is placed in front of me; I do not look a gift beer in the can. Or something. But it's not what I'd order when I'm out at a bar.
And we were watching the All-Star game...I see the purpose of a cheap All-American beer in that situation.
Now quit calling out my inconsistencies.
Hey, I LOVED every part of that evening. Even staying up until 2 on a "school" night.
I'll stop calling you out. Maybe..........
you should have been at the rocket club, with a crowd of less than 30 people, no smoke, a bunch of fellow j. crew employees, drinking magic hat with my boy. don't say you weren't invited.
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