A Hypocritical Diatribe

I write this from the gooey center of Abbotsford, British Columbia – if you don’t know it’s a lovely, nestled community about an hour outside of Vancouver. I’ve been living nomadically for the last week or so; the latest transient adventure was retreating out here when my Aunt’s house ran out of space. It all ends Monday however, when I finally move into the new digs and unpack and explore the city properly in the following seven days or so before work starts.

It’s kind of precluded me from getting funky and tripping the light fantastic this weekend, but hopefully when I trek back into Van tomorrow I’ll meet up with Skip and Jhen, et al. and catch a flick and maybe some tasty food. Which is so much better than shitty food.

SPEED FLASH!

Okay, I’m now back in Vancouver. Blog writing in Abbotsford was interrupted by my cousin’s return from work and need to get drunk on his back deck. It was fun. He has an amazing view of the mountains surrounding the town (which, horribly, is also where Dick Face McCurly Hair from Nickleback lives. Fuck, I wish I knew his address so I could egg the fuck out of his, no doubt, pathetically decorated house and gaudy sports car. I fucking hate Nickleback. I hope they explode.) It was interesting: just having scenery to look at made me so happy. It was a tangible feeling afforded to me simply by being present in such surroundings.

After the long talk and hangover I arrived back in the city and walked around downtown in an attempt to get comfortable with Street Names instead of numbers. I met Jhen and Skip in the affable Kitsilano area and we caught A Scanner Darkly and then the couple took me to my first hip eatery in Vancouver. It’s called The Eatery. I’ll take you there sometime. Good foodstuffs, ample desserts, deft musical selections – what more could you want?

It was great seeing those cats again, it is, indeed, a shame they’re leaving so soon, but I suppose it is for the best that I’ve aligned myself with people who ‘have goals’ and ‘ambition’ and want to ‘explore’.

But I wanted to talk about something. You see these truncated living situations have allowed me to get woefully bored at myriad of relatives’ houses and ruminate on what to write on my blog. A blog, which I must admit, I am becoming more and more obsessed over. You don’t want to know how long I spent organizing my Links…I’m lame.

I’ve been reading a lot of random blogs (like I said, they’re my new kick). Mostly of people roughly my same age with good taste, often pretty girls, and especially pretty girls with good taste. However, almost every time I’ve read one it has included at least one entry about how ‘fucked up’ people are and how no one ‘gets it’. About how the author is the sole possessor of the ability to step back and observe the putrid tragedy that is modern existence. Almost every single one. Is there an obsession (stronger than mine with pseudo-stalking via blogs) with wanting to be seen as deep or aware? I should preface the proceeding remarks with the caveat that I’m including myself in these observations. I, sadly, do not possess the eagle-eye critic, super-duper x-ray glasses. Anyways, I FEAR that we have submerged ourselves in the attractive quagmire of cliché. This particular tar pit: the cliché of not wanting to appear cliché or just another sheep.

In his novel, The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen mentions the thankless job done by the square, the patently un-cool to be the basis of comparison. They are, truly, under appreciated this sweatpants clad, fanny pack brandishing horde. They also have a distinct advantage. They have not been co-opted, they have not been packaged, and they are not a tradable, measurable commodity like those who are cool.

The profiles of the aforementioned redundant and pessimistic bloggers list favorite movies like Garden State, Being John Malkovich, and Amelie. Favorite bands like Death Cab, Coldplay, and The Strokes. And, hey, nothing wrong with any of that. I like that shit too. Dig what you dig. But I do wonder if those are listed because they’re the ‘right’ movies to like? The ‘right’ bands to be into? It is possible, downright likely, I’m completely off base here and mistaken, but I do wonder about it. It does cross my mind.

And that’s how I feel about these revelatory posts by my angry-for-no-reason peers. They are the ‘right’ opinions to have. It’s cool to feel that way. And when you’re North American, middle class and in your 20s cool is definitely something to aspire towards. They sell it. And the market’s a real bull.
So here I am, early in the morning, updating my blog about how fucked up people are and how I occupy the untrammeled wherewithal to perceive it and comment upon it.

My only defense is to state, again, that I don’t think I’m the only person who feels this way. I don’t think I’m the pioneer in waxing philosophical on this subject. And, moreover, I think I’m guilty of the behavior I criticize. I like being thought of as cool. It may not be selling out, but it is buying in. And I’m not sure if simply being aware that I’m doing it, justifies it. Or perhaps this subject is far too benign to require justification and I have saddled whoever reads this with my own trite, clichéd drivel.

Sorry.