Get a Little Cray Cray

Do you see the crazy in my eyes, there, faithful blog followers?  While it’s definitely there, it’s not the kind of crazy that I am looking for right now.  The other day I saw someone post on Facebook “What’s going down tonight – I feel like getting cray cray!”  And I realized that I don’t get cray cray, faithful blog followers.  I just don’t.  I think this picture is the most cray cray I have ever gotten, actually:  a trip to the family pumpkin farm.  There were animals (gross!), hay stacks everywhere (grosser!), and my feet got dirty.  The wildness hit a fever pitch when I ate not one, but two all natural frozen lime fruit bars and the event was so off the hook that I had to take a nap, cozied up in the passenger seat of my father’s car, the entire way home.  This is my idea of a wild time.  No jokes, no joshing – I really don’t get cray cray.

But after seeing that Facebook post, as well as getting a taste of the wild side when I did my Dress Like a Hipster post a few weeks ago, I developed a longing deep within to get a little cray cray myself.  I’m not talking barn animals and frozen fruit bars cray cray, faithful blog followers.  I’m talking acting borderline insane, just for the fun of it.

The caveat is that I have no true idea what it is to get cray cray.  I really think a trip to the family pumpkin farm is letting loose.  So let’s do another B(itch) poll to see what you, faithful blog followers, would like to see this lady do to Get a Little Cray Cray.

You will note, all of the polls harken back to a prior blog post of mine – from the one about Tom Skilling to the hillbillies, even all the way back to duckface.  Nothing wrong with a little shameless self-promotion, right?  And anyway, I do have my issues that make that crazy look in my eyes all the crazier…

You can vote for more than one thing, you can also add your own!  So let’s Get a Little Cray Cray..

If I Dress Like A Hipster, Will I Like PBR?

I don’t know what’s more disturbing:  the fact that I accidentally got drunk on beer before the afternoon was even over (ewww gross – beer!); or, the fact that it was so easy for me to find clothing and accessories in my house that fit the hipster milieu.

 In any event, for some reason I got this crazy idea that if I surrounded myself with hipster accessories, and even went as far as to dress like one, that I would somehow magically begin to like PBR as well.  I thought this would be the best way to test my hypothesis that it is being a hipster that makes you actually enjoy Pabst Blue Ribbon.  The only other possibility is that being a hillbilly will influence your actual enjoyment of PBR, and since we have already established that hipsters are just hillbillies in vintage, it seems pointless to test both.  (Not to mention, I would have to dress in overalls and take serial photographs of myself sitting on the toilet:  the former I am unable to do for I own no overalls; the latter I am sure you all do not really want to see…)

Here are the results (you will note I have added the typical, hipster photo effects to get the true feeling that – for this day only – I really became a hipster):

I decided to only sample four beers, because really I hate beer.  PBR was to be included as one of the four; my photographer and beer sampling administer (thanks dad!) chose these:  Tecate, Corona Extra, Coors Light, and PBR

As I said, I surrounded myself with everything-hipster.  That was to test my hypothesis that it is being a hipster that makes you actually enjoy Pabst Blue Ribbon.  Included in my surroundings, I had:  an unreasonable amount of Apple products, a pile of scarves (ready for wear if needed, despite the fact that it was 90 degrees out), colored sunglasses, a ridiculous hat (the only thing that would have been worse would be a vintage fedora … but the hipsters do love their retarded beanies), and an oversized and unmatched outfit … disturbingly put together from my very own closet.  The drinks were hidden behind a black box and a wall of the extra cans of PBR.

It was rough for me to choke down that beer, but I’ve had enough in my hey day to guess at 75% correctness.  This blogger hasn’t had beer in a long time, though, so obviously I felt a little rusty drinking it.

I got Tecate right!  I’ve had Tecate a lot in my life – and I still do enjoy the taste.

Coors Light was wrong.  I didn’t like it and never have, so it is no wonder I guessed it was Rolling Rock.  I’m not the biggest fan of American beers on the rare occasions that I do drink them, so it is no surprise that I had no clue (really) what I was drinking on the second round.

Obviously a little tipsy at this point, I got Corona Extra correct!  And I’m still a fan …

I was given a few different samples of the Tecate and the Coors Light before we moved on to the PBR, just for the sake of making sure I didn’t figure out what I was drinking.  Obviously the level of hatred I have towards hipsters would have skewed the results; nonetheless, when PBR came up I did guess it correctly and I still hated it.

This leaves us to a few possibilities:

  1. My hypothesis that it is being a hipster that makes you actually enjoy Pabst Blue Ribbon was just proved wrong.  This is quite obvious.
  2. You could further hypothesize that just surrounding yourself with hipster-esque things does not actually make you be a hipster.  This is a pretty big possibility and is an entire blog altogether, for that would mean that being a hipster is not about the material manifestations of it, but rather an inner state of being.  (I shudder to think that is the case.)
  3. What I really believe this proves is the idea that hipsters will do whatever to conform to the social standards of being a hipster.  It has been cited before on a number of different blogs, websites, and even news articles on Time and various weekly papers.  Hipsters want so badly to be against the grain of social norms that they conform to their own … social norm of (ironic) nonconformity.  
Back to my normal self …
… I am reminded that my real obsession with the hipsters is not that they like certain things or act in a certain way, but that they are complete hypocrites.  They will spend hundreds of dollars on things that look vintage.  They claim a nonconformist attitude by going at great lengths to conform.  They argue for individual rights and respect, while letting their parents pay for everything well into middle age.  They will even go as far as to drink a drink that really does taste like it came from a toilet bowl, merely for the sake of saying “we like cheap.”  But the Pabst Blue Ribbon wasn’t even really that cheap – it was comparable in price to all of the other beers I sampled.  A friend from Chicago even told me yesterday that at bars out there a pint of it will cost you about $6.50 – more than I have ever seen a person pay for a pint of beer.  Hipsters are one of my biggest pet peeves merely because in hoards they are creating even more stupidity and hypocrisy in American society, something I really think we already have enough of.
Special thanks to my dad, Raymond Schmidt, for setting up the beer tasting and taking the photographs.  He’s a writer too … you can find him on Amazon by clicking here.

Are Hipsters Really Just Hillbillies in Vintage?

Everyone’s talking about the hipsters.  Just this week, The Oatmeal released a web comic comparing Hammer Pants and Hipster Pants (and I have to say, Oats:  truer words were never spoken).  But the comparisons and the discussions are nothing new. has a compilation page of charts and detailed analysis of the hipsters, which the site calls “people who prove that they do not care about social standards by adhering…” in unrealistic levels to, well … social standards.  Even Time magazine has weighed in.  In an article on the hipster’s propensity to parody, Time said that “…everything about them is exactingly constructed to give off the vibe that they just don’t care.”  So it would seem that we just cannot stop talking about those tight pant-wearing, Pabst beer-drinking, vintage-loving wannabes.  Why is that?

Wannabes is what they truly are.  Hipsters are the post-poser subculture of people that want so badly to be cool and misunderstood that they conform (in their “ironic” nonconformity) to a state of absolute self-importance so that their coolness is protected by a thick layer of smug.  Did you understand anything I just said?  Let me say it a little clearer:  hipsters are nothing but a bunch of smug, arrogant assholes.  And they are that way on purpose.

Today at the AAA office, I saw a fine looking young gentleman clad in tight, purple pants and a t-shirt that said “Hipster for Life.”  While I am certain that the travel agent/insurance carrier would have been happy to provide the gentleman with insurance for his hot pink, tandem bicycle, what he really seemed to be there for was to strike up conversations with every other person waiting for help about his superior knowledge of music.  As I listened to the man talk, though (as he scratched his faux-retro mustache and I resisted the urge to punch him in the gut), I realized that hipsters are really nothing more than hillbillies!  In this moment of clarity (at the dingy AAA office, waiting for my map of San Diego County), this truth became so evident to me that I wonder how we all did not see this before.

Let’s compare the two:

Both hipsters and hillbillies have unreasonably ugly facial hair.  The faux-70s thin ‘stache is among the most popular.

We have that God awful fad (that still seems to be lingering) of people drawing or putting fake mustaches on their faces; they even have mustache parties.  What the hell is the point? – is what I have to ask, but that is another blog altogether.  In a comparison between hipster facial hair and hillbilly facial hair, you see that the two are absolutely identical.  Each prides itself on being unkempt.  Each is mocking some former style that they believe deserves some weird sort of respect.  And, inevitably, each looks disgusting.

Both hipsters and hillbillies drink the shittiest beer known to mankind.  In particular, that PBR piss water.

With the number of options for cheap, and yet quality, beer out there, it is astonishing to me that people still drink Coors Light, Miller High Life, and PBR.  Pabst Blue Ribbon is the worst.  Why do they do it you ask?  Well here is another thing the hipsters and the hillbillies have in common:  they like to be cheap, even when they don’t have to.  I see no reason for it though, particularly when a case of Heineken is only about $2 more than a case of the piss water hipster hillbillies drink.

Both hipsters and hillbillies are smug ass mother fuckers.

Here is where I draw the real correlation between hipsters and hillbillies.  The true sign of a hipster is one who thinks he is better than everyone else around him because of his personal choices to not conform (in such a way that is completely conformist).  He thinks his music is the best (it’s not), his clothing is the most fashionable (it’s ugly as hell), and his ideas on life and the world are so much more transcendent than anyone around him (very likely he is a dumb shit).  Hillbillies are the same, exact way.  Where hipsters look down on others for eating meat, hillbillies look down on others who don’t eat meat.  (I can’t even remember how many times I have been to my redneck family gatherings and been scoffed at for saying I don’t eat red meat – a choice for personal health and not involving any meats other than red.)  Hipsters think their taste in music is far superior to everyone else – something and Time emphatically pointed out; just as hillbillies refuse to acknowledge the existence of anything but country (or if they do acknowledge, it is followed with disdain).  The absolute arrogance of hipsters and hillbillies is so paralleled that their every move in life is preemptively defended with a vague and somewhat narcissistic rant about how they are removed from the world in ways most people could never even understand.

So the only possible conclusion is that hipsters are nothing more than neo-hillbillies:  all the same attitudes with slightly different details.  This, I fear, is just more proof that The Hipster Apocalypse is upon us.