Well, the rumors of a Pavement pre-reunion reunion proved unsurprisingly false. I regret nothing. Unfortunately, my return to “Ask a Hipster” will be delayed yet another week. You see, before I even made it halfway back to San Diego, I caught wind of a new bar opened up by some hipsters in a medium-sized college town. Apparently, they renovated a tiny kiosk at a hotel so it looks like a prison cell, complete with a little commode, and they sell nothing but “craft” Pruno. As I’m sure you can imagine, I cannot resist the urge to investigate this concept, executed in the most incredibly poor taste. Thus, while I am hate-drinking Pruno in parts unknown, I have asked my great-aunt, Tabitha “Tabby” Stevens, an 87-year-old self-described “folksy Texan,” to cover for me. May she enlighten.
— The Hipster
Dear Hipster Texan:
At a wedding a fortnite back, filled with guests I didn’t really know, I got into a serious debate with some totally random hipster (wearing actual suspenders and tweed in July, seriously) about whether Wimbledon is a bigger deal than the Tour de France in terms of the importance of the two events to the worldwide summer sporting season. Here’s the thing though: I don’t particularly care about either event, or even about either sport. I struggle to explain why I engaged in the debate with such passion and at such great length, and I think it’s because the smugness of this particular hipster bastard really pissed me off. What is it about the hipster mentality that places so much importance on being “right” about trivial things?
Well, I don’t have my nephew’s insights, but I’ve still got a fair bit of snap in my garters, and I tell you what, son, it sure sounds like your new friend blew in on his own wind. I always say, “Never wrestle with a pig, because you’ll both get muddy and the pig likes it.” I guess it could be rephrased as, “Never argue with a hipster because you can’t win for losing and it makes the hipster think the sun came up just to hear him crow.” The way I see it, you’re liable to end up more confused than a fart in a fan factory, so why waste your time hollering down the well in the first place?
Dear Hipster Texan:
I’m trying to encourage a flourishing organic, urban, backyard garden to grow healthy vegan food, and I have learned this requires fertilizer. All the good organic fertilizers I can find are made of blood, bones, and fishmeal. Any fertilizers not made from the byproducts of animal suffering appear to be made out of various kinds of industrial waste. I’m caught between Chernobyl and the slaughterhouse! What’s the appropriately woke choice, hipster?
Vegan urban farming dilemmas are about as rare as hen’s teeth where I come from, but it sure sounds like you’ve got a real yellowjacket in your outhouse there, little miss. God willing and the creek don’t rise you’ll see the end of it.
But, as my granny always said, “If a frog had wings, he wouldn’t bump his butt a-hoppin,” and I think that plumb near tells you everything you need to know about about anything that’s worth knowing.