Lousy Hipsters
The other night I was drunkenly messaging people on Facebook, listening to some Pixies and wildly vomiting into my trash can, when it suddenly occurred to me that I don't get the term 'hipster.'
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The other night I was drunkenly messaging people on Facebook, listening to some Pixies and wildly vomiting into my trash can, when it suddenly occurred to me that I don't get the term 'hipster.'
Back in 1999, Brendan Canning and Kevin Drew decided to turn their friendship into Broken Social Scene. The band has since grown to include 15 different members, developing its atmospheric pop-rock sound from its mostly instrumental 2001 debut, Feel Good Lost, to its remarkably varied 2002 follow-up, You Forgot it in People.
Advancements in Naval warfare have long since condemned battleships to the annals of history and the docks of scenic Camden, NJ. Such is the fate of the USS New Jersey, commissioned on May 23, 1943. The ship has an impressive record, beginning with its tour of duty through the Pacific, island hopping in the name of Sweet Lady Liberty. Encouraged by the efficacious gunnery and spotless shoe shining, it went on to make cameo appearances in small dustups in Korea and Vietnam. The latter proved to be the successful culminating watermark in this buoyant bastion's career, contributing to America's ultimate denouement.
Imagine what it's like being a career artist -- spending one's waking hours searching for inspiration while fighting vague detachment with interminable boozing. The array of wake-uppable places ranges from the bed/bathtub to the local friendly bar-dumpster.
Average Penn Student, I know what you're thinking: where can I get my poodle groomed? Luckily, we here at Street have done the legwork for you. The place is called the Poodle Clipping Service, and the woman is called one Bunee L. Keenan. She is a sweet old lady who has been in "the biz" for almost fifty years now. Although she used to have seven employees working under her, she now runs the shop by herself with the help of her precious poodle, Love -- so named because she loves everyone.
As my cab drew close to the Laurel Hill Cemetery last Sunday, it became clear I was about to enter a truly magical oasis filled with lush buried riches, sparkling epitaphs, and John Wharton's cold dead body. Unfortunately though, just like when I try to convince my parents I have not made their lives worse every day since I was born, I got my hopes up merely to have them smashed to pieces. I became crestfallen when I read the sign: "Closed Sundays." Nevertheless, I stand by my personal ethos, "Calling ahead is for slack-jawed poltroons and old incontinent women."
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