Hillbillies
You silly Londoners. You bright and risen angels. You with your converted studio space, with it's private night club.
For years now, I've been perplexed with the LA hipster scene. I'm sure I'm not grasping it in all its glory. I'm talking here about those cute clubs in los feliz with the boys channeling Fidel and the girls butchering Audrey. I never understood the ideal they were attempting to attain. I never saw the brass ring they were reaching for. Until last night. I guess around these parts they're called Notting Hillbillies? You can't make this stuff up. Well someone can. But not me.
Really though, it was all very charming. The space was incredible and the crowd was screened. How can any club projecting Weird Science against the wall not work it's way into my heart. And it's true that most people confront the outlandish with acceptance. Either British girls really do find the american accent alluring, or they're pleasantly suggestible. The drinks ran free, and when confronted with outlandish lies about my behavior claims of a laguage barrier are surprisingly effective. Remind me to show you the Universal Hand Sign for I Cannot Understand Your Accent.
So while I had a room at a five star at Paddington Junction, I spent the night on F's sofa. 'Spent the night' may be an overstatement. I slept for a few hours and gave F's cat a place to explore (my head). It was shockingly comfortable and I'm feeling nicely girded against my transatlantic flight.
So while you're all asleep in your beds tonight, dreaming of that girl or boy, bundled up against the elements, and all life's viciousness, know that I'll be hurtling through the sky at 500mph, every moment moving closer to where I started from just a few days ago. I came so far and burned so much fuel, and now it's time to let the band pull back and take me home. But perhaps a bit of that stretch will stay for a while. Perhaps I'll come back a little more loose and a little less blind. Sleep well my continent. Tomorrow I'm all yours.
You silly Londoners. You bright and risen angels. You with your converted studio space, with it's private night club.
For years now, I've been perplexed with the LA hipster scene. I'm sure I'm not grasping it in all its glory. I'm talking here about those cute clubs in los feliz with the boys channeling Fidel and the girls butchering Audrey. I never understood the ideal they were attempting to attain. I never saw the brass ring they were reaching for. Until last night. I guess around these parts they're called Notting Hillbillies? You can't make this stuff up. Well someone can. But not me.
Really though, it was all very charming. The space was incredible and the crowd was screened. How can any club projecting Weird Science against the wall not work it's way into my heart. And it's true that most people confront the outlandish with acceptance. Either British girls really do find the american accent alluring, or they're pleasantly suggestible. The drinks ran free, and when confronted with outlandish lies about my behavior claims of a laguage barrier are surprisingly effective. Remind me to show you the Universal Hand Sign for I Cannot Understand Your Accent.
So while I had a room at a five star at Paddington Junction, I spent the night on F's sofa. 'Spent the night' may be an overstatement. I slept for a few hours and gave F's cat a place to explore (my head). It was shockingly comfortable and I'm feeling nicely girded against my transatlantic flight.
So while you're all asleep in your beds tonight, dreaming of that girl or boy, bundled up against the elements, and all life's viciousness, know that I'll be hurtling through the sky at 500mph, every moment moving closer to where I started from just a few days ago. I came so far and burned so much fuel, and now it's time to let the band pull back and take me home. But perhaps a bit of that stretch will stay for a while. Perhaps I'll come back a little more loose and a little less blind. Sleep well my continent. Tomorrow I'm all yours.
On the most obvious, surface level of things they are easy to mock and scorn but really how are they different from any of us who choose to wear this item of clothing because we like the way it looks? Or identify with those people because we have things in common? They're just people, like you and me, sort of.
I mostly refer to it as an aesthetic. At least in this post.