Fucking Hipsters.

All applicable to the following story^^

My first interaction with a hipster, as I understand the species, was when I was 19. His name was Matt Chandley. No, I have no idea what happened to him. I met him, predictably, at an indie music store. I was buying some Jimmy Eat World rarites and he was the cashier at said store. He struck up a conversation with me:

"These guys are amazing live."
"Oh, I've never seen them live. I've never really been to a concert..."
"Oh you HAVE to go to seen them live. You haven't heard music until you've heard it live, firsthand."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Okay."
"Hey, I kind of have an indie band; can I give you my email address and phone number? You might want to check it out."
"Uh. Sure."

Somehow I ended up giving him my number. Fucking hipsters. They're masters of slight-of-hand.

One night, he calls me up and asks me to meet him at Waffle House in Jonesborough. If anything, he had a more embarrassing car than me: his mother's old Ford Taurus estate. At that time, I drove my Pontiac estate, but it was badass. Anyway, he got a grilled cheese sandwich at Waffle House.

At Waffle House.

I didn't have any money, so I just ate his pickles.

He was also an "artist," and told me he wanted to paint me. Whatever. We drove back to his (mom's) house. We decided to leave my car at Waffle House and take his car in case I got lost. Understandable. Commendable, perhaps.

He put in a CD of some uber hipster band that I definitely had never heard of before or since. The album started with one long (like, 45 seconds or so) of an unbroken, high-pitched hell-scream note. Then the music started. Immediately, Matt asked me if I liked it.

"Uh."
"Most people can't stand prolonged annoying noises," he smirked, "This band is smart. They get rid of the people who can't appreciate their unique sound right off the bat."
"Um."
"They're brilliant. I wish I had thought of that."

"That's really fucking dumb," I thought, "How pompous."

Believe it or not, I kept my mouth shut. I used to be quite shy around boys, and I found Matt rather attractive. he steadily became less so over time. Ladies, this is why you should never go for looks alone.

So, he painted me. Nothing sexy about it at all; he was actually kind of rude and demanding. First, I had no sense of fashion (I was wearing a white A-tank top [aka a wife-beater] and a red bra [Avril Lavinge, man] and a pair of pale jeans). My clothes gave no sense of movement in the piece. He made me put on one of his red flannel plaid shirts. What hipster doesn't have one of those lying around?

It took a few hours and I kept moving around, apparently. I can't remember anything remarkable about the piece, except he made my tits WAY bigger than they were at the time (barely an A-cup. Sigh). Then he drove me back to my car.

Later, he introduced me to his friends, Patrick and Patrick's brother. According to Matt, his initial intentions for me were, and I quote, "to shag [me] senseless." But, Patrick decided he liked me and Matt stepped aside to let Patrick have a chance at me. Like I was a doll to be passed around. Fucking hipsters man. Girls don't grow on trees, you know! Not to mention that those of us sitting around aren't always DTF.

I was a dumb kid, let me tell you. I just let anyone pick me up. I probably would have hitchhiked if the opportunity ever presented itself. I was also a very lucky kid- nothing bad really ever happened to me. I put faith and trust in bad people, but (so far) it never bit me in the ass in a lasting way.

So, I don't remember why I stopped hanging out with them, really. I think I just got busy being a real adult and then moved to Radford.

We were in a band together for a VERY short time, though. I wrote one song, called "My Anita." There's a long story behind that. But at least Matt didn't laugh at my poetry and gave good, constructive input on how to make my poems into songs. Matt had a 4-track recorder (what hipster doesn't have one of those lying around?) and some rudimentary instruments. I played bass... on a 6 string guitar... Patrick played drums... on a table and a kid's cymbal set. Matt played guitar. We all sang. Matt insisted upon this.

"It'll be really good for band morale if we all sing."
"I can't really sing," sez I.
"Nonsense. Sing. Now."
"I-"
"SING. NOW."
"A. Aaah..."
"See, you can sing. let's get started," he said with absolute finality.

I even have a pin somewhere promoting our band. I just remember the word "Red" was in our band name, that's all.

Looking back on it, I realise what a fucking hipster Matt was. I damn near fell into the trap.

Anyway, I got to thinking about this because I've been listening to a lot of Fun. "Stars" is a really fucking obnoxious song, though:

Towards the end, it gets a little too... free. If I'm in the right mood, I can defend the odd whale noises the lead singer is making: He is feeling so much emotion. It sounds like someone sobbing and gasping for air. Sort of.

But really, it's kind of an obnoxious song.