Now that I've managed to work my way up out of the mean Fitzroy streets (steadfastly refusing to bring my boys with me), I can finally start trashing the poncy quasi-bohemians that populate them. I caught this funny little article in The Age today, that chose to fixate on the standard issue black frame glasses you see propped on the nose bridge of every second skinny, effeminate man with girls' jeans on Brunswick Street.Only two types of people wear dark-rimmed spectacles: trendy corporate types and inner-city hipsters. The first usually work "in finance" and team their specs with charcoal suits and cashmere scarves. The second are a more complex breed. Males are identified by their beards, vintage T-shirts and khaki canvas knapsacks. Often, they can be seen reading dog-eared paperbacks in bars where all the furniture is second-hand and upholstered in green vinyl.
Not bad, and not too far off the truth. But the dude who wrote the article comes off sounding like he's probably rocking a pair of black frames himself.
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I'm confused, what am I? Blind yes, I could potentially lose the specs but that would lead me to start sleezing onto chicks that look like Hammah, or maybe actually confuse Hammah for a chick who looked like Hammah which would lead Vik to thrash me which would satisfy my punishment fetish (I've been bad) but may lead to a breakdown in my relationship with my (now only once was) good mate. They say old people who say they need glasses really need glasses and I say that I need glasses (or at the very least a monocle). So then - according to the theory purported - does logic then dictate that I am indeed old if I say that I need glasses and actually do in fact require them to both see and abate the rising tide of sea sickness that threatens to overwhelm me when I take them off? Or, oh delicious opportunity, am I in fact YOUNG!! If I find myself in either of these categories am I therefore absolved from the guilt brought by the accusations levelled in this piece? I have black rimmed glasses but not of the circa 1958 vintage, I'm not huge on indie music though have been to a few clubs with my mate Little Jimma and really enjoyed rocking out. Obviously I'm cool, probably too much so for school. I have no canvass knapsack, I do read dog eared paperbacks, I do not claim to be a muscian, I frequent pubs with darkened rooms where the bar staff are all lesbians, I used to be corporate - though no longer - and interestingly have been struggling through quite the crisis of self of late, in particular as it revolves around making the decision to leave that world that was awash with money and embrace the life of penury in which I currently reside (should I sell out? Do I actually have anything to sell any more? But I digress, more on this later). Am I ahead of the curve because I want to get laser surgery as I feel that my lifestyle is not suited to glasses, even though I am sure that we would all acknowledge that my face is.
And finally, I can not auto-felate and so doubt my ability to - a la Oedipal as the author so delightfully puts it - poke out my eyes with my manhood.
More gris for the mill of confusion.
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