Tag Archives: hipster

She Doesn’t Want Flowers

CAR WASHWash and gas the car.CLEAN BATHROOMClean the bathroom.MCGHEE BABYPrint and frame a photo.TORRES CHOCOLATEProcure the high-quality chocolate. MUFFINS IN BEDBreakfast in bed; blueberry muffins please.COUPLES YOGAPractice yoga together.WASH THE BEDLaunder the bedding.FUCKING HIPSTERS


festival faceoff: coachella v. pitchfork

PITCHFORK 2013The music = Coachella

The sheer volume of performers means Coachella owns the title for superior festival line-up.  From the obscure, to the mainstream, to the reunited, Coachella serves up a summer’s worth of concerts in three compact tightly scheduled 12+ hour days across a polo field of stages.  Pitchfork hosts a number of specifically well-cultivated acts spaced temporally further apart on three different stages situated relatively close together.  Even though Coachella has more musical opportunities, there is no way to see every artist which leads to inevitable disappointments.  Know what wasn’t a disappointment?  The Breeders playing Last Splash from beginning to end at Pitchfork.COACHELLA 2013

PITCHFORK 2013 CROWDThe people = Pitchfork

Chicago gets away with unacceptable bullshit (shitty weather, crumbling infrastructure, violence), but the city’s still beloved because of the charm of its people.  Chicagoans take no shit, but they aren’t fucking L.A. assholes either.  Their midwestern mamas taught ’em right.  The crowd peppered the days with “excuse me” and “thank you.”  Unlike, Coachella, everyone doesn’t stand thisclose at PitchforkPitchfolks mostly keep a reasonable and respectful distance.  In contrast at Coachella, a bitch had her saggy left tit on my shoulder for the entire Foals set.  Even the cops were nicer at Pitchfork.  In a surprisingly good-natured gesture two cops eye-fucking my friend and I pulled out perpendicularly to block traffic so we could strut the crosswalk unscathed.  (Hey Chicagoans – you all walk – stop at the crosswalks.  Crossing the street I felt like a fucked-up sequined version of Frogger.  G-Sus.)


Don’t fuck with Chicago when it comes to food.  We happily feasted on $5 vegan corn dogs and waffle fries from The Chicago Diner stand.  I was introduced to the beauty of Jeni’s ice cream at PitchforkPitchfood reigns.  Coachella offers the poisonous churro, lukewarm water, and chunder-inducing garlic fries.PITCHFOOD

The drugs = Coachella

Basically, people are eating their own hair at Coachella.  Everyone is super fucked-up.  An extremely permissive attitude permeates the polo grounds from security to the fans.  In comparison, at Pitchfork I was lying in the grass extremely faded on edibles listening to Wire when these annoying kids settled in next to us.  One of the girls was one of those narrator-types who wove the word “literally” inappropriately and excessively into every sentence.  “My weed is literally in the grass you guys.” Dude responds, “I want to be rolling so hard that I can’t feel my genitals.  That’s how bad I want to be be rolling right now.”  Obviously, these kids were killing me.  As I lay there contemplating this hell of my own making, I heard a stern female voice say, “What’s in the bag?”  My heart stopped and I kept my eyes closed.  A few beats of silence followed.  Then I heard the annoying nasally girl whine, “She literally just took our weed.  At least we only have an hour and a half left.”  She literally reassured the group.  “She’s totally going to smoke it.” Dude replied.  I have never seen security take anyone’s weed at any show I have ever attended until I overheard it happen to Chicago’s most annoying hipsters at Pitchfork.  I smiled inside at the thought of the security guard blunting up their sack after a hard day’s work corralling doughy bearded white boys around Union Park.  I’m not mad at you Sister Security.PITCHTREE

The Fashion = Coachella

Bless your heart Chicago, style has never been your strength.  I ask you manboys, what is with the super tight denim cutoffs?  This is a very strange not-at-all flattering early 70’s look to resurrect.  Newsflash: 99% of all men look like boys in shorts.  Shorts are a dignity issue.  Dress like a fucking man.  Mostly, it was just a vast sea of unoriginality among all genders.  Don’t worry, we were an island of freshness as I insisted on teasing my reluctant friend’s hair into a major modern beehive.  Coachella breeds its own version of annoying conformity that I wouldn’t at all consider a creative expression unless you consider the art of the coochie cutter the bastard cousin of couture.  However, at least the Coochellites try.  In Chicago, bitches think khaki shorts constitute a style statement.PITCHFORK 2013 JENA

Needling part deux

Tapping in acupuncture needleAfter my first dry needling sesh, I experienced immediate and miraculous relief from a nagging pain in the ass.  Post-treatment, I am enveloped in self-producing chemical euphoria.  The next day, I felt sore locally as if these muscles had endured a strenuous workout.  A day or so later, I completed a light hike, but that seemed to reaggravate the old injury and trigger tightness in the recently released area.  During the first appointment, Casey only treated my symptomatic left side, but once those myofascial trigger points released it made my right side feel tight and fucked up by comparison.DON'T KNOW WHY THIS BITCH IS SMILINGFor my second appointment, I requested needling on both the right and left sides.  A few tight points had indeed returned in the left glute med and piriformis, so he needled three spots.  It felt different, in some respects more painful and needle-y than the first time, but also the bundles of tension seemed to dissipate more quickly than before.  When Casey turned his attention to the right cheek, the needling electro-pinged with virgin intensity.  I just screamed, “Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Fuck Casey.”  Casey just loves to sheepishly exit my treatment room and face all his nervous waiting patients after they overhear my loud hysterics penetrating through the walls.DRY NEEDLE NECKThe day after my second sesh, I felt super sore and ass-weak.  A couple days later, my butt felt better than ever.  The true test will come this weekend when I attend Pitchfork.  Standing around all day smelling bearded hipsters tends to twerk my ass into a tizzy.  If I can survive a festival without a major pain in the ass, than I will be really impressed with the benefits of dry needling.PITCHFORK

I Can’t Hear You Bitch

What’s with the quiet talkers?  Am I just listening to my music too loud, or are bitches basically whispering?  There’s a mediocre vegetarian restaurant nearby staffed by limp, greasy hipsters.  The tribe Deschanel waitresses speak in such hushed and dulcet tones you’d think they were confessing they’ve contracted the latest hipster herp and not taking a routine drink order in a packed restaurant.  I’m not fan of loud talkers.  I will actually urge my companions to keep it down in public if they get overly amped, but I also think this whispering trend is just another way of lessening oneself.  Would it kill a bitch to speak clearly and directly? Besides, making me respond “what?” to everything you say is tedious for us both.  Own your power and speak up bitch.  Dampening yourself to seem cool is pathetic and antiquated. 

Sunday with Chloë Sevigny

To Glasses

Thanks for all your love and well wishes yesterday.  So far so good.  All went well with the Pink Floyd Laser Light Show.  I’m currently writing this 12 hours after surgery without glasses or dreadful contacts. I can’t help but feel a little misty for my glasses.  Not my dependence on them, but they do add a certain flavor to the face, no?  So today is dedicated to glasses.  I haven’t forgotten you.  I won’t be a hipster douche who wears you without a vision-correcting purpose, but I will continue to appreciate a well-placed pair.