Worked So Far... But We're Not Out Yet.

Commencing Random Thought Mode in 5... 4... 3... 2...

You know what's awesome about growing older? The fact that I am right now, at this very instant, apologetically and unironically clothed in an entire outfit from TARGET, including...

1) a faux vintage Mossimo (TM) brand button-up shirt

2) Fruit of the Loom boxer-briefs; the perfect compromise between form fitting but un-complementary tighty-whites and loose fitting boxers that would inevitably wind up contorting themselves mercilessly in my...

3) low end, Target issue Levis (Note to Self: never, ever dry these jeans, lest they reduce in mass to sub-atomic size, part of a plot by the combined forces of the yakuza, the Illuminati, and the insidious Dr. Shrinker to turn the bargain hunting, 30-something men of America into submissive, 21st Century Castrati)



4) Mossimo casual dress shoes. But not the ugly ones. Most Mossimo shoes land just this side of the mark; a lazy mimetic approximation of urban fashion, producing in the wearer the jarring effect of "trailer park metrosexual". But every four (4) years, Mossimo quietly releases truly brilliant footwear to an undisclosed number of stores throughout the country, always directly to the clearance shelves. For a mere $6, you can get into a pair that will earn you endless acolytes from your envious friends. Though mine are encrusted with fossilized oatmeal remains (long story) I continue to wear them, because 4 years is a long time to have to wait. Damn you Massimo Giannulli! Again. I again suspect the Illuminati has their hands in this.

Of course, you can still wear all these things in, say, your mid-twenties, but only to the detriment of your reputation as a hipster - unless, of course you perform a convoluted shell game with the labels, strategically covering the logo on the back of your jeans with a belt, or palming that Mossimo Gryffindor symbol embossed on the front of your shirt.

Another great thing about growing older is the fact that I no longer feel the need to qualify my taste in music. Around 9:30 today, during my usual mid-morning surf, I was plugging random pop-culture memes into Wikipedia. Kismet led me to the entry for Information Society, the late 80's synth-pop band, much maligned by the Cool-Kid Elite for their Thompson Twins-meets- Front 242 sound. I, of course, thought they were nothing less than the bees balls. And they're releasing a new album in October, which is liberally sampled on their website. Great Cesar's Ghost! does it make me want to stand up on the desk in my little cube and dance like an android. It's like a long lost mix tape unearthed from my high school sweetheart's closet.

Luckily for me, I'm too old to be a hipster. I suppose I could be a crypster (the rough breakdown is as follows: 21 - 24, Scenester; 25-30, Hipster, 31 and up, Crypster. It's all very complicated, isn't it?) But really, my life long M.O. is much more akin to "poseur".

Why am I musing over all this? A couple of reasons, I suppose. The wife's best friend is coming into town for the weekend, and we'll be going out tomorrow to pretend like we're young. "Danceotron" at Sputnik, probably. It'll be nice to break from Lipgloss for a change, though I suspect there'll be some crossover, music-wise.

The other reason is my Onion gig. I love it; I'm just enough of a dork to be thrilled every time I see my name in print, waaaaay the hell in the back of the paper. And that buzz, I'm sure, will increase exponentially when I get my first check next week. But damn! if I'm not a big ol' wannabe, an enabler of the big, eeeeevil empire all week long, only to write about entertainment diversions for left leaning Generation Y'ers by night (it just doesn't have the ring of "X'er" does it? Yes, I'm bitter) My love for sub-Depeche Mode (did somebody say "Red Flag"?) technopop alone would be enough to have me barred for life from writing in the alt newsweeklies of the world (though I went to high school with the city editor, and could surely dig up some blackmale-worthy stories if need be).

This must be how Clark Kent feels. That is, if he worked for the Metropolis Voice, rather than the Daily Planet.

All told, though, it's probably good that I'm starting to do this at this juncture of my life, rather than when I was younger. Good for my married and family life. Being published, no matter how small potatoes, is pretty good capital toward getting laid in clubs and bars around town, as no doubt guys like Adam Cayton Holland at the Westword could probably attest to. I myself would no doubt have wound up with a burning case of the herpies.

See... bitter.

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Still, I'm lucky that I can still get out occassionally, like I am this weekend; otherwise, there's a chance I could turn out to be a twisted little pervert obsessed with other people's lives...

ending Random Thought Mode.