No need for name calling

So some of you out there might be harboring ill feelings of judgment, thinking maybe I'm a joker, referring to myself as a Hipster. One might argue that one doesn't need to label himself, that he is who he is. One might argue that a King knows he's a King, but doesn't go around calling himself King. An Umpire knows he's an Umpire, but doesn't go around calling himself an Umpire. A Satirist knows he's a Satirist but doesn't go around calling himself a Satirist.... oh wait. Yes he DOES. I'm just beating you all to the punch. I'm using the irony of the entire situation to drive this, the very ridiculing only shows how deeply passionate and intense I am. It's all something I read years ago in a book you've never even heard of because you've been too busy reading the Twilight series or some old childhood favorite sci-fi novel like Ender's Game, which is totally overrated and not nearly as good as half the underground sci-fi there is if you just have the open mind to look for it. English lesson for the day: Satirist; from French, or from Latin satira, later form of satura 'poetic medley'. One who uses humor, irony, exaggeration, or ridicule to expose and criticize people's stupidity and vices, particularly in the context of contemporary politics and other topical issues. The fact that so many out there exist who try and become this undefinable "Hipster" is the catalyst behind my endeavors. And while many young, punk kids out there allow fashion (i.e. avoidance of fashion) and mainstream media (i.e. avoidance of mainstream media) to tax their brains with what and what not to do, I, on the other hand, am as real as the air we breath, and as in touch with what's truly existing as mother earth herself. Besides, I'm not a Hipster. F**k you.


Now that that is said and done, I'd like to move on to a current thought of mine: Chatting. Not what goes on in the dark corners of late-night pubs and cafes (that I'm sure most of you are dying to find out what it's like. [BTW not that great]). No, I'm talking about the bullshit way of our generation's form of communicating. And as much as I'd love to get into it all (maybe I'll save that for another vent), I'd like to hone my skills of ill-humor and wit on one specific event which frequents the realm of cyber communication: the forced farewell. It's inescapable. It's inevitable. It's unavoidable. I've witnessed many an inexperienced, uncultured git succumb to it. You know the story: you open up your gmail, Facebook, or other "friend site" that instigates digital discussing, and notice some of your compadres are on. Obligation kicks in, or maybe you actually feel like talking - scratch that - chatting. But after two or three shallow sentences and hollow quirks you say you gotta go. Not off the site. Just chatting with that person. So you X that little chat window out, and try and move on with your life, possibly chatting with other friends, the whole time finding your eye wondering over and seeing that that friend you said goodbye to is still there. Perhaps you even find yourself starting to feel like you need to sign out completely, or go invisible. It's the equivalent of walking out of a theatre with a friend, saying goodbye to each other, and then continuing to walk the next five minutes in the same direction.


Why do people do this to themselves? Because as complicated and awkward as conversing with another human being can be, it quadruples when both are doing so through a computer screen. Suddenly you're coming up with an excuse to leave. "My boss has a project for me to do now", "Oh, my friend's calling me", "Well, I think I'm gonna go to bed now". You're not going to bed! No one's calling you! It's just that now thanks to these wonderful chat sites, lying has become limitless! Hell, you can say whatever you prefer! "Soup just spilled all over my floor", "Some guy just came in my room and he's asking who's gonna pay for the pizza", "I just sat on an Exacto knife". Go ahead, be creative. Because they'll never know. And why does it happen? Why do we find ourselves tickets out of chatting instead of saying, "I'm done talking with you"? Well, because we're human, and lying is easier. There is, of course, the other alternative, where you just turn your computer off and tell your friend at some future date that your internet went down. And none of us enjoy leaving things hanging. We chat with others, and the whole time that hanging last sentence still lingers on the screen with sexydoll69@hotmail.com: "Yeah, that's so cool", submitted at 3:46 pm. It sits there, and we keep looking at it. Do we really just close the window? Do we type a quick "yeah" or "for sure!" to keep the dead conversation going? We wait longer, and their little icon showing they're available turns to an icon showing they're idle. Finally, one gives in, and types "Okay, well, I gotta get going." And if one or the other doesn't leave that site immediately, then both have to deal with the inevitable discomfort. But at times the chatters don't leave. Obviously, one didn't really have to go. They just didn't want to talk anymore. Some can stomach the awkward vibe. But most others, grieved with guilt or discomfort, find themselves logging off and pursuing other equally shallow activities, like picking up their cellular devices and texting anyone they might feel could be entertaining at the moment. But the fact remains the same. We all do it. You chat, later you find yourself bored of it, and in order to dodge the hand of awkward goodbyes, you make something up. But you better make it a good one, or you could find yourself in just as unpleasant a circumstance when you are noticed for not living up to your word. You said you had to do laundry, so why is it showing you're not off? Doing your laundry?


And let us hope this little blessing never falls upon your hip, euro-emo mullet-like hair-styled head (this can be interchanged with 50's-esque flapper girl straight bangs with plastic barrette you use to wear when you were eight hair-styled head). True story, I was talking to this girl for like five minutes but she lost my sense of care when she started talking about Modest Mouse and The Flaming Lips! What, are you from year 2000? Everybody knows those bands sold out eons ago. So I told her I had to go to this art gallery I was volunteering at. But then Porter got on and I started chatting with him (I went invisible). After about fifteen minutes, when even he started boring me about all the Rockstars he had drunk over the last 12 hours, he suddenly shoots out "Hey, talking with Sasha. I just told her I'm chatting with you, but she says you are at an art gallery. Aren't you gonna be late?" Well shit. She knew I was lying.Needless to say, we don't chat anymore. Not that I care. She thought Wes Anderson was Indie. Indie! Anyway, I gotta go. I have like this poetry reading I have to help host.