on Hipster Central

So there's this bar in town my drinking buddy and I call Hipster Central. He doesn't have a car, so when he lived a block away it was easy for us to bike the four blocks to get there. Even I couldn't get winded (except one painful night, the first night biking a week after taking my brace off post unhappy triad. And I digress...).

So Hipster Central, there are hipsters that congregate there. Some of them have the Flock of Seagulls haircuts. Those are my favorites. Most are just tattooed and wear tight pants. They have good fries and Stella on tap, so who am I to complain. It's always a good time, except that delightful/painful/embarrassing week wherein I visited Hipster Central 4 nights out of 6. It was the week following a test, that's all I've got.

So the point to this story is as follows: we were sitting on the patio this afternoon, my drinking buddy and me, when a cream-colored minivan rolled into the parking lot blasting the theme to Ghostbusters. Out rolled 4 little hipsters, too young in their hipsterdom to have any interesting tattoos, but clearly devoted enough to have pooled together the funds to purchase a van for the band I'm sure they formed some time in the last 12 months. I guess they're past the phase where everything is indie is regarded as holy; they're in the I'm-not-ashamed-of-anything hipster phase. Rolling around listening to an old tape of a shitty movie theme pretty much exemplifies this. I would have found the moment precious, were it not for the fact that I now have the fucking theme from fucking ghostbusters stuck in my head.


I'm listening to:
Jens Lekman- You're Oh So Quiet Jens.