ENID AND THE HIPSTER SUBCULTURE

" I think the general negativity of my teenage years has blossomed into a much healthier selective cynicism"


These are not my words but that of a precocious young woman who was about 16 when she fell in love with a movie from 2001 called "GHOST WORLD". In particular, the character of
ENID embodied to perfection by Thora Birch.


Enid gave a voice to the alienation and isolation felt by many gifted suburban girls.



Jam packed with the classic lines like "I'm tired of all these extroverted pseudo-
bohemian losers." The message resonated.



In the real world these young woman started to pop up everywhere. At the time I was oblivious, until recently when I dated two.



With their Buddy Holly glasses, full lips, existential angst, ironic logos, depth beyond their years, and their proclivity for depression. The impression was very powerful. That is, if you had the good sense to take notice.



However these same young ladies have often graduated into what now would be categorized as the "HIPSTERS" of today. Watch out.



The "Hipster" subculture cannot be missed in and around a city like Toronto.
To be honest, I am not sure what to really make of it. My general reaction is one of
surprise and a distant Marshall Mcluhan like interest.



Are they going for IRONY or is this supposed to be the REAL THING?
Even better than the real thing?



What is a Hipster? Let's bring on the depth of Wikipedia. Can we go wrong?


Hipster (contemporary subculture)

Hipster is a slang term that first appeared in the 1940s, and was revived in the 1990s and 2000s to describe types of young, recently settled urban middle class adults and older teenagers with interests in non-mainstream fashion and culture, particularly indie rock, independent film, magazines such as Vice and Clash, and websites like Pitchfork Media.[1] In some contexts, hipsters are also referred to as scenesters.[2]
"Hipster" has been used in sometimes contradictory ways, making it difficult to precisely define "hipster culture" because it is a "mutating, trans-Atlantic melting pot of styles, tastes and behavior[s]."[1] One commentator argues that "hipsterism fetishizes the authentic" elements of all of the "fringe movements of the postwar era—beat, hippie, punk, even grunge," and draws on the "cultural stores of every unmelted ethnicity", and "regurgitates it with a winking inauthenticity."[3] Others, like Arsel and Thompson, argue that hipster is a cultural mythology, crystallization of a mass mediated stereotype generated to understand, categorize and marketize the indie consumer culture rather than an objectified group of people.


INTERESTING?


Other contemporary Urban Subcultures that pop into my mind are Goths and Urban Primitives. Belle Legosi's Dead.



The HIPSTERS seem to have morphed tree hugging and 70's fashion... Monogamy and pot smoking... Moustaches, sushi and cunnilingus... Bad sunglasses and Beatnik authors.
Vinyl records and Peru...The list goes on.



As somebody that has ridden a few waves in my time from Disco to the Dead Kennedy's...
There is always something cooler(this word isn't cool anymore) coming soon ...the real reflection of your generation...or a sublime anti-reflection of your generation.


It seems important to identify with some sort of outer extension of your soul. Wear yourself on your sleeve so to speak. Some or the male fashion statements seem to be yanked right out of a 70's porno movie or the Walberg spoof "Brock Landers".



I shouldn't really say too much more as I listen to "that 70's channel" on live 365 internet radio and can identify any song within seconds. "Get down boogie oogie oogie"



"THEY WANT YOU AS A NEW RECRUIT"



Even though I am a male and a little long in the tooth at that.
I get ENID. She really was cool, even in my somewhat jaded opinion.



I am just not sure I want to join in anymore which is a pity. I've had my 15 minutes of fame and I am still trying to recover.



RL

ANNE SEXTON AND MERCY

I was playing around with words and wandered to a poetry site. If poetry is really good, I often don't understand why it is structured the way it is.

What is the meaning of that one word sitting on a line by itself?


Is this an exposition
of character or a metaphor or an overture? Often I don't get it and I end up
slightly frustrated.


If in the last 20 years I had spent a little less time watching sports and a little more time between the pages of some meaningful art, it might all make a little more sense.


Heterosexual men like myself were told that keeping diaries with poems was a feminine thing to do. It's no wonder that the intention and depth of some of these geniuses can
fly right over my head.


I get so caught up in keeping emotion inside that something visceral often evades
me. Let me not go there.



THIS POEM HOWEVER is not so full of abstract images, as to evade.



Anne Sexton was on
my mind tonight so here she is.


Some part of me was screaming self-indulgence.

Don't post a poem I thought.
It's usually a sign for me to do the exact opposite.





45 MERCY STREET
BY ANNE SEXTON





In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill
searching for a street sign -
namely MERCY STREET.
Not there.

I try the Back Bay.
Not there.
Not there.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
the servants.
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the butter sits in neat squares
like strange giant's teeth
on the big mahogany table.
I know it well.
Not there.

Where did you go?
45 Mercy Street,
with great-grandmother
kneeling in her whale-bone corset
and praying gently but fiercely
to the wash basin,
at five A.M.
at noon
dozing in her wiggy rocker,
grandfather taking a nap in the pantry,
grandmother pushing the bell for the downstairs maid,
and Nana rocking Mother with an oversized flower
on her forehead to cover the curl
of when she was good and when she was...
And where she was begat
and in a generation
the third she will beget,
me,
with the stranger's seed blooming
into the flower called Horrid.

I walk in a yellow dress
and a white pocketbook stuffed with cigarettes,
enough pills, my wallet, my keys,
and being twenty-eight, or is it forty-five?
I walk. I walk.
I hold matches at street signs
for it is dark,
as dark as the leathery dead
and I have lost my green Ford,
my house in the suburbs,
two little kids
sucked up like pollen by the bee in me
and a husband
who has wiped off his eyes
in order not to see my inside out
and I am walking and looking
and this is no dream
just my oily life
where the people are alibis
and the street is unfindable for an
entire lifetime.

Pull the shades down -
I don't care!
Bolt the door, mercy,
erase the number,
rip down the street sign,
what can it matter,
what can it matter to this cheapskate
who wants to own the past
that went out on a dead ship
and left me only with paper?

Not there.

I open my pocketbook,
as women do,
and fish swim back and forth
between the dollars and the lipstick.
I pick them out,
one by one
and throw them at the street signs,
and shoot my pocketbook
into the Charles River.
Next I pull the dream off
and slam into the cement wall
of the clumsy calendar
I live in,
my life,
and its hauled up
notebooks.

Anne Sexton



AIN'T THAT TOUGH ENOUGH?

TWO MEN OF SUBSTANCE

I have been gathering some ideas from a book recently.


One of the chapters was talking about aging and the need to ask the kind of questions of yourself that will provoke you to think deeply, and to connect you with what matters most.



Here are 5 questions that were suggested to ask yourself.

Imagining that today was the last day of your life.



Did I dream richly?
Did I live fully?
Did I learn to let go?
Did I love well?
Did I tread lightly on the earth and leave it better than I found it?


The idea behind these questions is that by journaling about these questions, it will hopefully help you live with more authenticity, passion and joy.



There are many best selling books out right now based on this very idea.
I know that it seems a little touchy feely and on the new age side. Especially if you are a blue collar man. (Not a slight against hard work)


You be your own judge. For me, all of these questions are powerful and remind me of how far I have to go, one day at a time.



Recently I have had the privilege of meeting two special men that are over 80, and have really inspired me.


One of them I refer to as Mr Lee. I am not really sure how to pronounce his first name or if I am on equal ground socially and feel comfortable giving it a try.


Mr Lee has come into my life as an instructor of an Asian discipline called Qi (chi
Gong. Let me immediately say that I am just a novice but am trying. If I start telling you to "be like water" I hope the BS meter would start ringing.


He has been battling Cancer for a long time and somehow through this Chinese discipline of exercise and energy release, he has been healthy and happy for many
24 hours now.


This man positively radiates when he walks into a room. He is always smiling and goes the extra mile to actually listen to you when you speak. He is also always quoting the most obscure references that invariably put a smile on my dour face.

He was really smiling when for fun he showed me a move where you could strike somebody under the armpit with a quick shot that would terminate them. I was horrified and he was laughing. Precious.

Mr Lee went out of his way recently to teach me some special exercises and is actually bringing me back a list of new breathing moves when he returns from hong kong.

Also, the other day, he took time out of his afternoon to accompany me down to China town where we invaded a couple of shops and asked for some strange remedies and Black and White dried mushrooms that apparently have some incredible medicinal capabilities.

Why did he do this? Because I am such sterling company? I think not.


He is just the type of guy that leaves nothing behind. He wants to reach out and help, to make a difference in your life.


Why was this person put in my path? I am sure it can't be by pure chance, it seems
pretty prophetic from where I am sitting. Great guy, I am lucky.


I met this other gentleman Les through an organization that I am involved with. He reached out to me as well.

I had just finished speaking to a group of Strangers where I was talking about some of my past flawed philosophical stances and ridiculous life choices. I ended the talk by saying that some days I was sure I was a genius.

This was said facetiously and after the talk I gave, this older man came up to me and said.....Great talk...My name is Les, and I am another genius.

This guys sharp wit and honest eyes endeared him to me immediately. He imparted many
words of wisdom over lunch that day, and his diabolically dark sense of humour will stick with me for a long time to come.

I lost touch with him for a few weeks and then I recently heard that he was quite ill.

After a few days living with my usual procrastinations, I called him up.
He was energized and eager to here how my life was going.

When I finally asked about his health, he nonchalantly told me that the doctors told him that this was the final curtain call and that he only had a few months left.

I tried to give him a reply that was genuine and I told him that he had made a difference in my life although I only spoke with him a couple of times.

He seemed overjoyed. I said I was sorry and hoped to see him soon.

If he is up to it, I may tell him to look
into the Qi Gong and Chinese Mushrooms.


These two men are great examples to me of what is possible. I have know idea what their answers would be to the 5 questions listed above? However,I am sure that they would not be leaving much white space on the page.


I have the genius of their actions to inspire me on those days of feeling a little depressed and beaten down. There is not much more to say. Except maybe, thanks.

RL

BE YOURSELF TONIGHT

I was just rereading a couple of recent posts and my feeling is that I need to strip this entry down a little bit.


Come down off my cozy pedantic cloud and face a little bit of the metaphysical music.


See I really don't enjoy doing it. Let me refrain from using the word "process".


Does anybody in the real working world really fckn care what the difference is
between an allegory and a metaphor?


Maybe. But are they REAL?........



Tonight as I was multitasking watching Vicki Christina Barcelona online and the Football game on TV and researching the Buddhist centre right across the alley from me, (and listening to the Shins) I came to a realization.



(I am not sure if this was before or after I started downloading the original "Night of the Living Dead".)




We all need to keep busy and distracted from the big questions of existence to maintain our equilibrium and a semblance of sanity.



Sure it is necessary to visit that place in your mind, and quite often if you are really brave. (Unless you have tunnel vision and are oblivious)



The best way around this situation is to be in a relationship with a partner that understands you and also understands the big void out there.



Solution. Find a person that likes to enthusiastically search for the mystery, and more than that,
wants to share it directly with YOU.



(No you don't need somebody to complete you......)




It would also be nice if this person had a wonderful, exciting best friend that came along for the ride , just in case that the initial chemistry with your partner wears off.

(This is an attempt at late night humour)



I may have somebody in mind. If I do, may God be with them.



Sometimes I think my sanity is bordering on the truly subjective.
Better than robotic I suppose.





I AM in desperate need of some new exploration though.





New Music. Opera?

An airplane ticket.

A late night rendezvous in the old part of town with a woman with strange Tattoos.

A poetry reading on an Island.

A sweaty Concert.

I am reaching.



A specific tangible involvement in a movement that makes sense like SOLORAID. That sounds plausible.




For now I am semi-content to be aware of all the brutal injustices but be hopeful that the best is yet to come.



In small portions and in moments, but coming soon.

Perhaps it is time to take out an AD.



"Content, confident, driven, and drooling man seeks big adventure and a mysterious woman with big desire"


or



"Are you brilliant, insecure, dynamic, neurotic and a load of laughs?
There is a sensitive ass of a man waiting for you"



For now at the beginning of the long Winter, I will watch some sports, eat some comfort food, and listen to Bryan Ferry.



Settling can become a very dark art that I am beginning to synthesis.




That is the stripped down version for tonight.


RL

NOVAK DJOKOVIC AND BLACK SWAN

My friend Dave introduced me to a betting site recently.

Although I am really not a GAMBLER, I was definitely pumped by the knowledge that I didn't have to put a wager through the Ontario Lottery Corporation and help pay for their bogus public service ads anymore....."Do you or somebody you know have a Gambling problem?"....

Meanwhile the OLC pulls in Billions of dollars and really couldn't give a shit.

Too early for that RANT.


So armed with my new site, I saw that I could basically bet on anything that moved.

Two chickens are racing in my Nephews backyard...What are the Irish Odds on that?


This site also has an added feature, betting on events as they are underway. "In
Play" betting.


Who's going to catch the next ball? Who's going to win the next
point?

Whose manager is going to have an Aneurysm first?


It's crazy, but very enticing.


They once did a study on Gambling and it showed that when people make bets and are in the process of waiting etc....their brain is STIMULATED by DOPOMINE in the same fashion as when doing COCAINE.


IT'S JUST A NATURAL WAY TO FEEL TENSE, EXCITED AND OVERWHELMED. SOUNDS GREAT DOESN'T IT. BETTER THAN A HEALTHY BREAKFAST.


Fast forward to this morning.

I wake up, warm and toasty under the covers. The sun is bathing me through my back
window. I don't really want to move.

Visions of a woman that whispered to the loons
are dancing through my bed head.


Today I will go celebrate an early Christmas lunch with my magnificent 96 year old grandmother (nana) and some of my close family. Fabulous.
.

There is just one thing that is weighing on my monkey mind now that I am revived .........


I have a new bet on the DAVIS CUP tennis match (country vs country) that is being played in BELGRADE right now!! Gripping drama at 8 am in my morning...WHY?


The heart starts to race.



Now I know everything there is to know about TENNIS past and present and then some. (Happiness this does not equate)


However the question is will NOVAK DJOKOVIC let me down. I had to bet 100 dollars
just to win 20. I really am not a fan of this guy either.


This Serbian Charlie Brown is now my horse. He is great if he can get his mind off of
his abs and a propensity for racial clensing. I need tea.



The guy's a total perfectionist (like Natalie) which in this case is good. He has a huge ego as well, which matched with his talent is serving him well(sorry) in front of 15000 beasts from his homeland.


The atmosphere is borderline PENETENTIARY.


Usually I would feel sorry for his opponent GAEL MONFILS (from FRANCE) who is getting blundered.


However, today i don't really care.....It's all about me and not losing that $100.


Ok, so DJOKOVIC beats him easily, forcing a final match to be played before the wild
fans. Now I am feeling for the new French opponent.


He is like the Bull being led out in a fixed bullfight from Milosovic hell.



This is really not the Zen mindset of positive intention that I was gravitating towards on my Sunday.



However maybe some deep breaths and some realization of CONTEXT
might help.





The last time I felt so tense out of the blue was a couple of days ago when I went to see BLACK SWAN.



I had heard it was a great performance by Natalie Portman in a kind of Indie film about Ballet.


It Shouldn't really be that much of a mental stretch. Its not like I will have to watch "The Turning Point" again. (70's reference)


Without giving too much away.. This movie leaves the audience GASPING for breath.
Everyone was in total SHOCK. A total ONSLAUGHT.


Portman was beyond incredible. What was this piece of art? Some kind of synthesis between Karen Kain and Linda Blair? LET THERE BE BLOOD.



It was very tense and offputting from the beginning. Physically you can't keep your eyes off her.... It seems that these are the kind of experiences that vicariously make me feel alive these days. (With the healthy lifestyle)



BLACK SWAN seemed to be a bleeding commentary on Body Image, Perfectionism, Dualism, Freud,
Lesbianism and Sexuality, Peer Pressure and Self Mutilation.......



Not exactly light stuff. (Give her award now) But really fun in terms of Character Development.
You want to just go right out after the movie and start to cry........I like that
image.


The last line of the film is what drives it all home. I won't expand on it now. Always try to save the best for last.


I capped this movie off later with a double bill of the talented Jennifer Lawrence.. "A winters Bone" and "The Burning Plain"..............


The underlying theme of the weekend? If it ain't visceral and slightly painful..............it may not be worth it.


I need to head directly for the gym.



However at this point as the fifth match is starting in SERBIA....I think I might just put on a Mint Tea for myself, just to help me cope.















The f