the quipster

taking summer classes at pace isn’t as bad as i had anticipated it to be. with a history of excellent english teachers in high school, i was very underwhelmed by the professor i had during my fall semester of college. she was terrible in every sense and had a penchant for accusing students of plagiarism. for one of our papers, she collected all the rough drafts in the class and accused nearly everyone of plagiarizing their papers. you know damn well that i don’t like being told i’m wrong when i’m right – or that i’ve done something wrong when there was no crime on my part at all.

so i slipped on an attitude and like a pair of stinky socks, it began to show. coming to class late, sitting back, criticizing the professor in a relatively subtle fashion while in class, sometimes not even showing up at all are among the many antics that transpired during this time, which led to a brutal e-mail battle between her and me. she stated that my behavior was “cavalier”. upon reading this, all i could think about was the researched version of the knight in age of empires. i took this as a compliment

this meek knight will become

this reckless cavalier

and as a result, she failed me regardless of how promising a student i was to her in the precious first days of freshman year. now i have to take english 120 all over again. but its not so bad because i have a professor who actually knows what he’s talking about and presents things in a very interesting manner. he is open to discussion and criticism of texts and welcomes all sorts of opinions. for the first time in a while, i am enjoying english class enough to get up and go even if i’ve only had two hours of sleep and would much rather lounge in bed. plus, the naps afterwards are incredibly rewarding.

in the short story we’re reading today, the father of the protagonist is dying. the catch is that the father left the protagonist and stole his car to bust-a-move on out of there. in his last moments, the father requested that the son come to his hospice in california and see him once again. in this situation, the father is clearly looking for personal closure with this broken relationship so he can deem his life worthwhile. a girl in class argued that the father had his chance, and the son shouldn’t go to see him (meanwhile the son has faced the aftermath of katrina, has a child whose mother is in jail, and a girlfriend who actually gives a damn about his shit-luck life)

then the idea of going to show the father up came into mind, that the protagonist could go to his father and really make a mark and teach the father a lesson about how to handle life and its twists and turns. i suggested that instead of looking at it as a medium of manipulation, why not go to california, see your father before he passes away, and instead of teaching him a lesson or showing him up, put what your lesson would be in action and display the ideas of responsibility and humility. i pushed this idea as something better than either of the two other options because i feel that people can learn most not from lessons you tell them you’ll teach them, but morals and good ideas you display – grounding a technique for modeling.

in the life aquatic with steve zissou, ned kingsley and steve zissou get into an altercation and ned storms up to steve for having made a rash and menacing remark about winslett-richardson (blanchett’s character) ned proceeds to declare that he is going to fight steve. papa zissou reacts to this hilarious delivery by punching ned in the face.

Ned: I’m gonna fight you, Steve.

[Steve hits Ned in the face]

Steve: You never say, “I’m gonna fight you, Steve.” You just smile and act natural, and then you sucker-punch him

so really, you never tell a guy you’ll punch him – or teach him that lesson. you display it and try to elicit a response that shows you that this guy felt the full breadth of your hit, because no one really cares to evaluate what they see coming in the way they should when it hits them surprisingly, like a cow.

following the explanation of my idea, (as paraphrased above) my professor put on a big smile, and impressed, he said,

wow, well i didn’t expect that to come out of a dunhill-smoking, williamsburg hipster”

and in that moment, i realized that my individuality and my unique thoughts, as fucking incredible as they can get sometimes, had put me in the ranks of the “williamsburg hipster”. now, i’ve been living here for two months now, and i continually wondered when i would slip into the cracks of this elite faction. if it wasn’t today that was the definitive moment where it all came together, then maybe i should go for that job at american apparel again. or maybe this was all one big extended metaphor to begin with

1. kid applies to american apparel
2. doesn’t get job
3. goes to class, hits it out of the park like a violent parent with an unruly child
4. ???
5. becomes a hipster

so there you go guys, in my quest for social proof and life worth, i found that all i had to do was think a little bit and respond. i worked for that thought, and in return, i was dubbed the title of that “dunhill-smoking, williamsburg hipster.”

am i proud? yes. do i care what nasty things people say about hipsters? nope, because hipsters don’t care about anything.

right? am i right? i don’t know, shit, i think its just the rush – like a rolling bolt of thunder – talking at this point. but really, at what point does a person officially become a hipster? is it the clothes? the hair? the attitude? the ideas? is it my boyish good looks and my razor-sharp wit? well i know for sure that it can’t be narcissism.

i’m not entirely sure, but i plan on figuring it out. i suppose i’ll be able to determine a better idea now that i am one of them us.