Scenesters, Hipsters, Emo pussies. Is there really any difference?
So I was hanging at South Town mall the other day. You know, trolling for ass and buying presents. Tis the season. And between being hassled to buy a new cell phone and marveling at the Israeli guys selling the fuzzy thing that jumps into the cup (that thing blows my mind) I happened by my favorite store in the whole wide world. Hot Topic. Oh how I love Hot Topic. The reason for this is somewhat simple. I find it strangely reassuring when stereotypes totally live up to their expectations.
I’m a guy that likes to think he’s pretty perceptive. That’s code for, “I’m a judgmental ass that makes sweeping, unfair assumptions about people I know nothing about.” Now, I don’t always like that about myself and I feel my fair share of guilt as a result. Not enough guilt to actually change, but just enough to feel a little bit crappy about it. However, when a moment arises when one of these seemingly unfair assumptions totally comes true, it’s like a wave of vindication pours over me. For example, when I see a pack of emo / goth / scenester douches walking out of Hot Topic with their forlorn eye make up, spiky, dyed-black hair and contempt for consumerism plastered on their sour faces (as illustrated by their new My Chemical Romance T shirt they just bought), I smile inside. As it turns out, I really can pigeonhole people I know nothing about into preset classifications based on a few obvious, superficial observations. And all is right with the world.
Well, it was my pleasure to behold a group of these cheery folks the other day at the mall and it reminded me of a particular anecdote from my not so distant past. Like most of these stories, many of you have heard it before. Feel free to enjoy it again.
I think it was the summer of 05. I was living in an old house in Sugarhood (the shit part of the Sugarhouse area in Salt Lake.) I lived with three of my buddies who were in a band together. When you’re in a band, only part of the effort you put into it actually involves writing, practicing and performing music. A lot of your time is spent trying to build a following. You can be amazing but if people don’t come to see, no one cares. This means you end up throwing your share of parties, in an effort to embed yourself into the local scene.
As such, there were parties at my house on a fairly regular basis that involved a large amount of inebriation. Now, I knew what I signed up for when I moved in. And even though I am a good little Mormon boy, I don’t think I’m much of a prude. Do what you do, I totally don’t care.
Most nights I would hang around and try to chat up the various people. I met a couple of pretty cool people, but to be honest I found most of them to be stuck up jaggoffs. Although, I’m sure they would say the same thing about me. Now there is something you have to understand about this particular demographic. They were among the ilk that considered themselves “scenesters”. That was a term I was previous unfamiliar with.
A scenester (like they are a part of the “scene”) is someone who, according to some chick I talked to at one of these parties, is “committed to fashion, art, music, politics and rejects the conventions of society”. Basically, take every goth pussy you ever knew in high school and cross them with an fashion snob who knows absolutely nothing about fashion. If they didn't shop at Hot Topic, they sure looked like they did. And of course they scoff at us foolish, conformist Mormons. It didn’t take me long to realize that it’s best for me to just hang out with some other friends on the nights of their bashes.
To be clear, the buddies I lived with were only friends with about 5% of the people in attendance. And those 5% were cool guys. But the rest was that “following” their band was courting.
Well, on this particular night I went to my cousin’s house where we watched Hotel Rwanda of all things. I drove home, feeling pretty introspective. It was about 3:00 in the morning and I thought I had given them decent time for things to settle down. Well, not quite. I got home to about fifty to sixty drunken folks that were enjoying themselves. I hung out for a little while. I remember seeing this particular weird looking girl. She was short, fat and had a buzzed haircut. She was wearing a wife beater, no bra and had nipples that darted out a quarter inch from her gross boobs. She never said anything. She just walked around with a big closed lipped smile. It was creepy. After chatting with a few friends I decided to head to bed.
We didn’t have cable, which meant I watched a lot ot PBS in that house. I like PBS. I was enjoying a documentary about Jimmy Carter when I heard some commotion in the kitchen.
“Mike, I’m gonna slit your f*cking throat!”
“F*ck you man, I will murder you!”
I walked into the kitchen and some guys were holding my buddy Mike back into the corner of the kitchen and there was some cocksucker hyperventilating in the other corner of the kitchen.
Now I am a large man. I am 6’5’’ and, as of this morning, weigh 276 pounds. Every other person at this party was a frail, vagina pants wearing beanpole. I had at least 80 pounds on any one else in that house. As such, several of them said, “hey man, can you help take care this?”
Apparently, this guy had hit a girl or something and Mike blew up on him. Mike is way cool guy and typically quite mellow, but he was pissed off.
I am a pretty levelheaded guy. I have been in exactly one fight in my entire life and that was against Robby Wilkinsen in the 7th grade. I can have a temper, but it usually involves swearing at a referee. But I’m quite in control and nonviolent in these types of confrontations.
I walked up the hyperventilating asshole, got quite close to him and in a very calm but firm voice explained that he is no longer welcome in this house and he needs to leave. “I live here, this is my house, and you need to go now. There doesn’t need to be any trouble, you just need to get your stuff and go.” He started to calm down. But just as he was about to mellow out, he snapped back into fight mode.
“Mike, I’m gonna find you and slit your f*cking throat!”
Alright, I’ve been calm. I’ve been rational. But we’re done with that. I grabbed him by his shirt, shoved him into the wall and then dragged him to the front door and gave him the old heave hoe. I turned around and didn’t see it, but apparently he broke the rail on our front porch and fell through it on the front lawn.
I gotta be honest. It felt good.
At that point the party was over. Everyone cleared out. Some people stayed behind to help clean up. Among them was Buzzcut McNipple that I mentioned earlier. Although she didn’t clean anything up, she walked around with her strange, wide smile. But I must have made an impression.
Even though it was late, I was pretty wound up at this point. I went into the kitchen and started baking myself a Totino’s Party Pizza. Man those things taste good at 4:00 in the morning. When it was properly toasted and bubbly, I took it out, cut it up and headed to my bedroom. There I found Buzzcut McNipple sitting on my bed, bare ass naked.
Dude, she looked like soft serve ice cream cone that was rapidly melting. Lots of folds and they were all quite droopy. And as unpleasant as her nipples were poking a hole through her tank top, those silver dollars were far more offensive when they sitting on my bed, pointing straight down. Seriously gross. Which is a good thing. As previously mentioned, I am both single and Mormon, which means I am also both celibate and horny. And if she was half way unrepulsive, things might have happened a little differently that night. But fortunately for me and my temple recommend (swearing isn’t part of the interview process), she was about the most unpleasant thing I have ever imagined.
I didn’t say a word. I turned around, found my buddy Gregg and commanded him to get that thing off of my bed. Gregg was my roommate who was also of the single/Mormon persuasion and helped throw the party. He got her out of my room and I returned and immediately stripped the sheets off my bed. I figure it was decent odds that her lice infested butthole had made direct contact with my sheets, so there was no way I was sleeping in those things. I then ate my Totino’s Party Pizza on my bare mattress.
A few minutes later, I heard music playing in our front room. I went out to check things out and there was Gregg slow dancing with a topless Buzzcut McNipple. At least she had put some pants on.
Now in Gregg’s defense, he wasn’t a willing partner. In fact he had his hands up in the air as if he were surrendering to police. The fact is Gregg is a really nice guy who didn’t feel right about throwing a clearly intoxicated nutcase out on her huge, bare ass in the middle of the night. He was telling her to crash on the couch when she put the music on and grabbed him. But that didn’t stop me from getting Mike and laughing at Gregg.
So that’s my crazy party story. Since most parties I go to are incredibly boring, I’m glad I have this little account in my arsenal.