I'll say it again: hipster boys who insist on talking without knowing, drinking heavily, late-night phone calling, and spelling "a lot" as one word just ain't my bag, baby. Even a genuinely good-hearted specimen of this type doesn't mean that he's a romantic option for me. The worst thing is, they honestly don't recognize this.
Many of these fellows assume that they're 'my kind' because I make the town and play music and wear vintage or otherwise far-out clothing. And while they treat me with some modicum of respect, they do not really have an idea of what true respect is. They don't understand why I'm not going out of my mind with girlish eagerness when the phone rings at 2:23a.m.. They can't figure out why I'm not compelled to invite them over for a "nightcap" when they do call. Heck, it's worked for them with most other girls with a Bettie Page haircut, so why not me?
These fellows share my musical tastes and some of my knowledge. And I agree...we'd look quite impressive walking side by side, both dressed to the nines. But I'm not twenty-two anymore, and neither are they. Appearing in the door of a nightclub dressed to impress is a fun moment, I will admit...but it doesn't really "make my night."
Sigh...yes honey, I play the guitar. And you're right, I do tour in Europe. Sure, my records and books may rival or surpass yours...or not. And you're not mistaken; you can occasionally catch me at certain spots around town doing fun and exciting things. Because sometimes, yes...I "make the scene."
People of true substance and goodness are rare indeed, and although I feel as if I'm being a little bit mean, it's an absolute verity that I need those rare people in the central roles of my life.
I know that I am being condescending; the "holier than thou" intellectual snob. But although they cannot necessarily be blamed for a lack of finesse, education or perception, they should still educate themselves enough to not be completely flummoxed when I use the term "hair shirt" in casual conversation.
Monday, August 6, 2007
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