The Lady With the Pink Hat

About a week ago some controversy was spurred over a trend that is growing across the country, that trend being the No Children Allowed Restaurant.  More and more, restaurant owners are responding to the complaints of clientele who would prefer to eat their meals in peace, rather than have it ruined by some bratty kid whose parents are entirely hands-off on the discipline.  On the surface, this seems vaguely reminiscent of the old “one bad apple ruins the entire bushel;” although, to be fair, those without children at the dinner table have just as much a right to eat in peace as those with them have to let their kids run the show.

Some varied responses have been made to this.  Some have agreed, even those with kids, because they recognize the fact that parents these days just don’t believe their child should be disciplined (or, possibly that their child can do no wrong).  Some have disagreed on the basis that, while they recognize children can be completely out of control, it seems inherently wrong to refuse service to people just on the basis of the fact that they happen to be in a particular group of people (dare I call them:  the birthers).

We’ve talked about this before, the notion of people acting as though they are the only people on the planet, and so everyone else should cow-tow to their desires.  And, in fact, it seems to be happening more that people in society feel a sense of being entitled to do whatever they want, even if it means that they and their children are infringing upon the rights (and even safety of others).

Today I was at the library with my father, who happens to be a candidate for full hip replacement surgery.  Nearing his seventies, his bones have become so brittle that even the slightest fall could result in a fracture of his hips.  He even has a handicapped placard for his car.  While at the library, a child was running around and screaming while his mother was nowhere to be found.  Inevitably, the child ran into my father, nearly knocking him over.  My father looked down at the little boy and said “watch where your going, where is your mother?” and the kid ran off without another word.  Five minutes later, though, this lady in a pink hat stalked up to us and started yelling at my dad – in the middle of the library – for daring to respond to her son, who can clearly do no wrong.  After calming the situation down (although I did say that she should learn to be a parent as she walked away), she went off with her bratty toddler and we went about our business.

Despite the fact that the situation was calmed down, though, and the kid and his mother eventually got kicked out of the library because the little terrorist was ripping books off the shelf and screaming, this raises again the issue of the No Child Restaurant.  Had my father (or any other older person that spends a fair amount of their time at the library) been knocked over, he very likely would have broken a bone at the hands of a little boy that was allowed to run all over the place.  And had my father broken a bone, the only people that would have been liable for it in the end would have been the library.  Worse than him running all over the place, though, was the lady in the pink hat:  his mother.  Without knowing the situation or the health or the beliefs of other people, that woman has taken the position that so many other parents today take, which is that the safety and happiness of others is of no matter as long as they can do whatever they want.  That poor, little boy is on a surefire course for destruction later on in life and his mother has done nothing but teach him that he can be a monster, and to raise his voice if anyone questions that.  One day, that little monster will hurt someone in a place other than the library, where the only one liable is him; and then they will all have to pay the price of a mother that simply doesn’t want to deal with an unruly child.

When considering how to act in any public place, it seems we need to remind ourselves that public means that other people will be there, with entirely different situations than ours.    Not everyone thinks a screaming and destructive kid is the cutest thing next to teddy bears.  And sometimes, it can even be dangerous.  To those that still don’t understand why some restaurants have chosen to have a policy that no children be allowed, consider the actions of the lady with the pink hat.

Things to Forgo Being All A’Twitter About

Somehow I came across this blog the other day.  Don’t waste your time clicking the link, actually:  the blogger’s 14 places not to Tweet did not prove as entertaining as I thought it would.  This is of no fault to the blogger so much as it is (in the end) just already pretty obvious where you shouldn’t be posting on your Twitter or Facebook (for real, who updates their Twitter during their wedding photos).  Although, the area where it is not as clear is in that of what you should not be posting about.

The reason for this is simple:  everyone uses Facebook, Twitter, and all of their other social networking sites, for different reasons.  Some use it to complain about their lives; others to market themselves for work.  Still others are on to keep in contact with friends and family and share information.  The possibilities of why people are hooked in to social media are endless; and yet, the thing to remember is that not everyone is on for the same reason as you.  As a result, it’s important to follow some simple discretion when it comes to your posts.  Your friends/followers/connections/whatever-you-may-call-thems will thank you.

You all remember my blog a few weeks ago about things I would prefer you not post online.  While that was an all encompassing list of photos, updates, articles, etc. that seems more for Facebook than anything else, this handy-dandy list pertains specifically to the status-update; or, in Twitter-land, the Tweet.

Things to Forgo Being All A’Twitter About

  1. Consistent with the main theme of things I would prefer you not post online, let’s kick this list off with anything relative to bowels or personal hygiene.  That includes (but is not limited to): showers, baths, shaving your legs, shaving your face, shaving your nether-regions, waxing, and anything having to do with the effects of one too many Triple Steak Burritos at taco bell.
  2. Posts about how your [fill in the blank] is the best [fill in the blank] ever.  Your [fill in the blank] is not the best [fill in the blank] ever because someone else on my page says that their [fill in the blank] is the best [fill in the blank] ever, and quite clearly there can’t be more than one best [fill in the blank] ever, so you must both be wrong.
  3. Details of your labor and delivery.  If you’re like me and you’re in that 20 – 40 age range, every other post on Facebook or Twitter is about pregnancy and childbirth.  Share the happy time with everyone, sure; but spare us how many centimeters you’re dilated.
  4. Sex.  Sex.  Sex.  As in, you having it.  The only thing your status updates about sex let us know is where we should make sure to bring a prescription of penicillin along with next time we travel.  Please, spare us all.
  5. The dramatic ups and downs of your relationship.  If you are announcing a new boyfriend, or a finale to your traumatic marriage, that’s fine.  But every day with the “I’m so alone in this marriage” and the “feeling rejected by my man” gets really old and seems more a cry for attention than anything else.
  6. And on the note of cries for attention, everyone should just skip past those vague posts that are intended only to get people’s attention.  Save us the “well that was just great”s and just say what you mean.
  7. Excessive quotes.  I have been known to post a quote or two about things that are truly entertaining, or more often from a book I’m reading.  But people that post quotes ad nauseum, very often with those happy crappy “isn’t life grand” themes just pisses everyone off.  Limit your quotes to infrequent; and make sure there’s some meaning behind them.  As one blogger puts it:  “Quoting the wisdom of someone else does not make you philosophical or smart. It simply makes me dislike you.”
  8. Have you ever seen one of those annoying status updates that go on and on about sisters, brothers, people with cancer, the military, etc, etc?  You know those ones that try and guilt you into reposting them at the end with some jargon like “85% of people won’t repost this, let’s see if you do.”  Yeah, those.  Friggin’ stop it!
  9. While we’re on that, the Facebook games.  Like the one about posting your shoe size with a frowny face afterwards to try and “trick the guys” into thinking you’re posting about being disappointed about the size of a man’s member; or the one where everyone posted the color of the bra they were wearing to raise breast cancer awareness.  I’ve got news for you ladies:  you aren’t raising awareness of anything except how much of  a ninny you can be.
  10. Posts about how you are having a nervous breakdown.  I’m not talking about the occasional “had a really bad day” or “relieving my stress with a glass of wine” … those are fine.  I’m talking about the posts that go on and on, complaining about how you just can’t take it all anymore; and that occur so frequently in the week it’s all anyone expects from you.  I get that a lot of you may have very stressful lives, but just remember this:  somewhere out there there is someone in a much worse situation than you, and it is very likely they are on your friends/followers list and thinks you’re being nothing but whiny and ungrateful for the things you have.  If you have some personal problems, share them with others in private – telephone, email, and in person works much better than a broadcast to the entire Social-Network-a-verse.
  11.  This one isn’t so much a thing you should avoid posting so much as improper ways to post.  STOP POSTING IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS!  PLEASE!!!  ALL YOU ARE DOING IS YELLING AT ME!  AND WHILE WE’RE AT IT, LET’S STOP USING IMPROPER GRAMMAR, SPELLING (WIT U), AND PUNCTUATION.  THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO REASON TO PUT A SPACE BETWEEN YOUR EXCLAMATORY SENTENCE AND THE EXCLAMATION POINT ! ! !
  12. The ever-dramatic, attention-getting posts about how you’re quitting Facebook or Twitter “for good this time.”  One person on my friends list on Facebook continually goes back and forth between having her Facebook active and not, and frankly it drives me insane.  The last time she was on she posted status after status about how she was deleteing her page again and someone commented “stop crying for attention and either delete your page or delete me from your friends list.”  Here!  Here!
  13. Finally, let’s all stop posting that we are on your way somewhere mundane.  If you are on your way to a wedding or a cool new place, that’s fine, but spare us the daily update that you’re on your way to work.  No one cares.
There’s a start, although I’m sure we can make this list much longer.  Leave a comment on what you want to see people forgo being all a’Twitter about.

Dining at its Finest

Photo Credit Alice@96.5

Hey you over there!  Yeah, you!  The complete douche in this restaurant, sitting at a table on his cell phone … you!  The guy that is talking so loud I can hear the entire conversation; yeah, you know who you are.  I actually feel like we have known each other for years at this point.  I’m so sorry to hear that the merger at your all-important company fell through, but I’m elated to hear that your wife is pregnant with twins after three years of unsuccessful attempts to cool down those spermies.  Such news must be truly important if it has to occur in such a time, at such a place, and in such a manner as to ruin everyone else’s meal.  Across the restaurant there is another guy sitting on his cell phone too – although he is elderly and appears to not realize that cell phone etiquette does exist.  Is there a “who can talk on their cell phone the loudest” competition going on that I was made unaware of?  Had I known I would have certainly entered it myself by talking for thirty-plus minutes, as loudly and obnoxiously as possible, in this fine establishment, attempting to ruin everyone else’s meals.

Photocredit ChildfreeChic

Oh look!  Your friends came to let their children run wild, screaming and stamping on other people’s feet, while you continue your conversation and just use the loudness of the children as a reason to talk even louder.  And I see they’ve brought their baby as well.  I suppose this means the baby is going to scream and cry the entire time and spit food all over the place.  Maybe (if we’re lucky) its parents will talk about what kind of diaper they changed before coming in; or the mother will accidentally squirt us with her breast milk when she goes to feed the kid as she wolfs down her All-Star Grand Slam breakfast.  I tell you that the last time that happened to me (four months ago at a Souplantation), I just really enjoyed tasting my soup and salad return to my mouth at the realization that a complete stranger had squirted breast milk on my hand.

I think you all get the point by now.  I don’t know what it is, but almost every time I go out to eat I encounter either one or both of the scenarios above (which is frequent … you all know my policy on slaving in the kitchen, not to mention the sheer reality of the fact that a healthy meal, which is also tasty, is cheaper bought in a restaurant with healthy standards, rather than made at home).  Maybe it’s where I’m going, although it seems to happen everywhere.  Perhaps the real problem is that people around the country are realizing that the rising cost of groceries and healthy options at a realistic price doesn’t beat all the “kids eat free”/”happy hour” options there are available now.

Or maybe it’s just that the world is full of people that think they are the center of the world; people that feel that they are entitled to have loud cell phone conversations wherever they want.  People that really think it is acceptable to talk on the phone while having dinner with you, making you wait while they have their conversation that is so much more important than you.  I’ve got one for you, obnoxious cell phone user:  how about you have dinner with the person on the phone instead of me, if the conversation is so much more important?  Maybe the world is full of people that think the cost of their meal includes daycare, or people that think that because they talk about dirty diapers and breast milk all the time, that must mean that everyone wants to talk about dirty diapers and breast milk all the time.

Here’s the deal:  no one wants any of that.  When the majority of people go out to eat, it’s for a relaxing time.  It is not to be bothered by cell phone calls, to be treated like a cell phone call is more important than their company; it is not to babysit your children or be stepped on or disgusted.  It just isn’t any of it.  I challenge you all to consider how your dining experience affects others the next time you go out to eat – maybe you won’t let your kid run around wild, or be so quick to answer that all-important phone call.  9.5 out of 10 calls can wait for twenty minutes until you get the bill, anyway.

 

Why hillbillies annoy me

I read, recently, that it is considered uncouth to refer to someone as “white trash.”  Granted, saying something like “you are such white trash” probably isn’t exactly polite, sometimes it is warranted.  Reportedly, “white trash” is just not the way you are to brand someone that has the characteristics of, well … white trash.  Other words like “hillbilly” and “trailer trash” are considered preferable in the Mountain William World, so now we have yet another group that is going to change the preference of their designation year after year, after year.  It isn’t bad enough that we have to keep up with the secretaries of the world changing their designated job title to “administrator” or “administrative professional;” or with the teacher’s aids changing to “paraeducators,” now even the gun-toting, sister-marrying, Walmart-shopping, toothless-wonders of the world are getting politically correct.

That’s not the only reason hillbillies annoy me, though.

Hillbillies annoy me because all they talk about is their bowels.

As much as I enjoy hearing someone talk about their bowels ad nauseum (literally), and as wonderful as that one year was when I went to Thanksgiving dinner with an old boyfriend and his grandfather did the “pull my finger” joke at the table six times, it just really annoys me that hillbillies have to involve human fecal matter in everything they do.  Life does exist outside the toilet.

(As a side, the fact that this photo exists, along with a cadre of similar Youtube videos, is disturbing and beyond the threshold of annoying.)

Hillbillies annoy me because they really do all have “Joe” or “Sue” for a middle name.

I can’t even seem to figure this out.  Along with the “Bobby”s and “Tommy”s of the Mountain William World, it seems that all of them have “Joe” or “Sue” for a middle name.  I dated a guy back when I first moved to California who tried so hard to distance himself from his hillbilly family; and yet, inevitably a wedding or anniversary reigned in all the “Tiffany Sue”s and “Billy Joe”s the family had to offer.

Hillbillies annoy me because they seem to have to make perverted comments about everything.

I’m all for the occasional joke about “rolling in the hay” or “if this van’s a rockin'” but hillbillies take it to a whole new level.  For one, I have never been to the zoo and not seen a pair of hillbillies standing by watching turtles making it, snickering and talking about the size of the man-turtle’s manhood.  Even that would be tolerable once in a while, if only hillbillies didn’t always take it to another level altogether.  My mother happens to be dating a full-blown hillbilly (he lives in a trailer), and every time I see him he makes it a point of mentioning just how much they get nasty.  And his perversions show up in every, single thing he talks about – when they took a trip to visit Area 51, he gabbed on and on afterwards about how cool it would be to see aliens do it.  Or how about the hillbillies that put the “5 dollar footlong” shirt on their kids?

Hillbillies annoy me because they talk all kinds of shit and then either lie about it, or act affronted when it comes back to bite them on the ass.

Seriously, this really annoys me.  A hillbilly probably spends 75% of their waking time talking shit about other people, particularly other non-hillbillies that “think they’re better than us.”  Instead of “Joe” or “Sue,” “Drama” should be the real, universal middle name of the hillbilly.  Now, again, I do my own share of smack-talking (don’t lie to yourself, you do too), but when I’m called out for it I don’t lie, act like it’s an affront to my personal character, or use it as a way to talk even more shit.  Not the hillbillies, though.

There are a lot of other reasons why hillbillies annoy me.  The overalls, the shirt-less trips to Wal-mart, the lack of teeth and basic dental hygiene – it all reeks to me (in some cases, figuratively; in most cases, literally).  But what really irks me is this notion that I am now to be politically correct in reference to one of the most unpolitically correct group of people in this country, on this planet for that matter.  “White trash” is no longer kosher?  How about we put on some regular clothes and stop making passes at our cousins, and then we can talk about who deserves political correctness.

There’s a reason for the law against you marrying your sister, Bubba Joe … ’cause you’re white trash!

Is that true?

Just this week, I have had the great fortune of adding another pet peeve to my master list of peeves, a list that seems to be ever-growing by the day.  The top peeves, of course, are matters of grammar.  You all, faithful blog followers, know that I cannot stand text lingo (wat up wit u lol); just as you know I have come close to completely melting down over the use of fake words like ‘good’er’ and ‘funner.’  And we all remember that post long ago and far away on Art is of Words when I had the equivalent of a digital aneurysm over the new trend in putting spaces between an exclamatory sentence and its exclamation point(s) (OMG I am sooooo excited !!!).

But I have other pet peeves besides grammar and punctuation.  The grocery store lady is one of them; another, still, is when people take too long to return a text message, or worse – ignore it.  But some of these are lower on the list, because yes, lovely readers, I do prioritize my list by just how annoying the particular peeve in question is.  Well, I have added a new one and it’s a doozy, so it’ll be ranking pretty high up there with the exclamations and the OMGs.

At dinner a few nights ago, I was confronted with a situation that I realized I have been confronted with quite a few times in the past, without realizing it of course.  We were at dinner with a group of my husband’s family and friends, and every time I said something, one person in particular felt that it was necessary to verify what I said with either my husband or someone else in their “circle.”  I said something about the Internet, and this person said to my husband “is that true?”  I said something about a mutual friend we all had, and this person said to one of the other friends “is that true?”  I think it happened three times during the course of the evening that night, and upon thinking about it more realized that I am second-guessed to death every single time we are around this person in particular.

This made me think for a while – am I seen as a liar?  Do people see me as not a trustworthy source of information, even over mundane things?  Were other people being second-guessed as well?  I felt so second-guessed after this particular dinner that I began to second-guess myself, so asked around.  To my surprise (and relief), I found that a lot of my friends encounter people like this – people that have to verify everything that you say in front of you with someone they trust more, even on the most minor of issues.  An old high school friend of mine told me she has a co-worker that is constantly second-guessing everyone in the office; one of my friends even said that he broke up with a girlfriend of eight months because the girl’s dad did it so often.  So what’s the deal?

After even further second-guessing, I realized that I could not – for the life of me – figure out why people do this.  Why they have to “is that true?” someone they may have known for years, decades even, is completely unreasonable to me.  Not only does it just not make sense, because generally you associate with people you believe and trust, but it is just so rude.  Second-guessing someone you consider more than just an acquaintance – be it a co-worker, friend, or relative – is like turning to a nurse and asking if the doctor is right in saying you have bronchitis.  It’s illogical, rude, inconsiderate, and really says more than it is probably even intended to.  But then, I can’t figure it out.  Is it that these people have trust issues?  Or is it more deeply rooted, sort of like a subconscious need to establish just whose side you are on, even for information?

As with most questions I ask myself, I still have no answer for this one.  Perhaps that is why it ranks so high up on my master list of pet peeves:  the very fact that it happens is bad enough, but not knowing why is enough to make that funky blue vein pop out of my forehead.  To that person that always, inevitably, does this – the person at my family and friend dinner, the person at my friend’s office, my friend’s ex-girlfriend’s dad, and all you other second-guessers out there – we have all updated our lists accordingly.  And let me tell you, once you’ve reached the status of an entry on the pet peeve list, you hear about it.

Dear Grocery Store Lady,

The following is an open letter to that annoying bitch that is always at the grocery store when I am there.  She occasionally is old, sometimes young; she always pisses me off.  If you are her, please take note.

Dear Grocery Store Lady,

Our unfortunate acquaintance began each time you cut me off while I was politely waiting for that big S.U.V. to pull out of the parking spot I intended on pulling in to.  Flipping me off and acting as if you were entitled to the spot was probably unnecessary.  I noticed you had one of those ‘Coexist’ stickers on the back of your station wagon, which is ironic given the fact that you clearly have no idea how to coexist with anyone.

It never fails that when I then park about three blocks from the grocery store, in the only other space available, and make my way into the store trying to forget you, you make this impossible for me.  As I walk into the store, you are always blocking the entire doorway with your cart as you read through the sale ads and tear coupons from the ad, as you clearly lack the forethought to do this at home before coming in.  Ma’am, some of us do have places we need to be.  If you could get your big, coupon-clipping ass out of the way, we would all greatly appreciate it.

Then there was that time I was in the cereal aisle, deciding what cereals I wanted to pick for the week and you smashed your cart into me, ripping the skin from my ankle.  One time you actually pushed me.  I know there is only a short period in which the free samples of Jimmy Dean’s newest chocolate chip ‘Pancakes and Sausage on a stick’ will be available for sampling in the meat department, but if you could please stop abusing me while I shop I would greatly appreciate it.  Or, you could at least say you are sorry (which you never have).

I really enjoy standing in line, hearing you ramble on and on, and on, about Uncle Tim’s hemorrhoid flare up, and how everyone thinks your daughter is going to be discovered by a modeling agency any day now, but if you could keep your loud, stupid, and obnoxious cellular phone conversations out of the grocery store, we would all appreciate it.

…. and on the note of standing in line, ma’am, “15 Items Or Less” does not mean 15 categories.  Doughnuts, pound cake, Oreo cookies, and double-chocolate fudge brownies do not count as one item, just because they all fall under the “things that attach themselves to your ass” category.  Please be a little more considerate of those of us that actually only have fifteen items.

That about sums up our relationship, dearest Grocery Store Lady.  Contrary to your wholly egotistical viewpoint, you are not entitled to my parking place, nor are you the only person trying to wedge their way through the door.  Common courtesy does exist, even in the universe which revolves itself around you.  And no matter how you try and sweet talk your way into it, your 143 items really don’t belong in the Express Lane.  I hope your doughnuts and Oreo cookies, and your Jimmy Dean’s chocolate chip ‘Pancakes and Sausage on a stick,’ really do attach themselves to your ass.

Sincerely,

Fellow Shopper

The Hipster Apocalypse

Does anyone else remember the days when you went into a MAC store to get your computer fixed and you were able to talk to people who actually looked like they should be working on computers? Donning pocket protectors, tight pants, collared shirts, and always wearing bottle-rimmed glasses, a diagnosis of your coveted machine was given to you through the nasally tones of someone you actually trusted had gone to school to specialize in caring for your device. This seems to be a thing of the past, though. Now, when you go into your local Apple store to hit up the “Genius Bar,” you are confronted with something far from a cadre of geniuses and erudites in the field of computers. No, instead when you step foot into the store (each of which is far too modern, white, and rounded for its own good), you are confronted with the enemy: hipsters.

Don’t get me wrong: I will never use a computer that is not an Apple/Macintosh product. I truly believe that Apple products are far superior to Windows-based PCs. I’m one of those people. I covet my Macbook, iPad, and iPod; without them I am at an utter loss.

That said, I’m getting just a little tired of going into my local Apple store for a repair, an update, a question, or a new accessory, only to be assaulted by an onslaught of hipsters. As if this new trend were not on every corner of every street, every ad in every shop-window, I have to be confronted by them at a time when the stress of a broken computer, or the upsettedness of another required purchase, is at its height.  Something about this just seems wrong.

Mod glasses and excessive plaid be damned:  Apple is quite clearly the headquarters of The Hipster Apocalypse.  An average Apple visit goes something like this:

First, upon walking in the door, the hipster guards are all milling around waiting to check you in for your appointment.  There are (on average) at least fifteen of them, all standing around, carrying iPhones.  One time I had an appointment for technical support that was two hours before the store opened and twenty people (all with the obnoxious blue employee t-shirts and check-in iPhones) were hanging around the front, looking something like these guys:

After breaking through the army of hipster guards, I am finally checked in for my appointment.  A little known fact is that you actually need an appointment to do anything at the Apple store.  On one occasion, I went in to purchase a case for my new iPad and the employee showing them to me told me he had to schedule and check me in for an appointment before we could proceed with the purchase.  The reason for this unnecessary Apple beaurocracy remains to be seen.

While heading to the back of the store to wait by the Genius Bar until one of the “Geniuses” calls my name, I pass by a series of islands for various purposes.  At some of the islands, there are products.  It never fails that this chick is checking her email for free:

There’s almost always someone being taught how to use their Macbook (because it isn’t made as simple and self-explanatory as is humanly possible, right? . . .); the employees always in lounge pose:

And as if the contemporary beat-nick, no-showering hipster mentality hadn’t truly hit hard with the employees, there are always some yupster children running around the games section, conveniently placed right next to the Genius Bar so that people in for free help must know that hipsters really do rule at Apple.

Finally, my name is called and I head to the Genius Bar for a non-genius to fix my computer.  At the Genius Bar, the true effect of the hipster culture at the Apple store is at its worst.  Mundane conversations about bands and being emotional always extend the appointments well beyond the time needed to simply fix the actual computer.  People that think they are cool by virtue of their iPhone ownership are always milling around, tapping and honing in on the appointments to offer their superior knowledge of Apple products.  And the employees (whose New Hire Handbook must have come with a pair of thick, square glasses and focused on how to make your pants as tight as possible) are generally too busy pushing their Phil Spector-hair out of their eyes to actually listen to what is going on with the computers:

Usually when I leave the Apple store, I feel unsatisfied.  Yes, my computer is fixed.  Typically I find the accessory or help that I need.  On occasion, I even come away with something for free.  But the pangs of disappointment always grip me as I leave the store, each and every time.  Usually it’s because the hipsters were just so intolerable that I felt like I needed to punch something when I got in the car.  But every once in a while, it’s because I wish I were as cool as those really cool, emo hipsters.  I wish I could rock dirty, tight pants; overly wooly sweaters, plaid shoes and hot pink thick-rimmed glasses.  I wish I could slouch everywhere I went and fro my hair out.  And more than anything, I walk away from an Apple store dripping with jealousy, for as a non-hipster, an uncool “square,” I never get the hipsters fistbump at the end of my transaction:

While this blog does not condone or encourage violence, of course exceptions can be made when it comes to hipsters:  tomorrow is the first ever “Punch a Hipster Day.”  Join the revolution against The Hipster Apocalypse!  For more information, click here.