crappy hour
I'm sick of fine presidents and good presidents and mediocre presidents. I'm sick of Rutherford B. Hayes and James Buchanan and Franklin Pierce and Millard Fillmore. We got Barack Obama! Barack Obama, for crying out loud!
That's Win Butler, lead singer of
the Arcade Fire and a supporting character in a
New York Observer piece predictably self-consciously devoid of the word "hipster." Which is to say, it's a story about my generation and how we hate ourselves but love Barack Obama despite our fears of being associated with the "naive moron vote," or something. The thing is long and reference-redolent but if you're feeling free-associative the tags are BARACK OBAMA and STYLE and BELLE AND SEBASTIAN and
GWYNETH PALTROW and THE ARCADE FIRE and TWEE and I scrolled far enough to read "
Keith Gessen" and "McSweeney's" when it occurred to me that if there is one thing I'm kind of over w/r/t my generation it's parsing trend stories uselessly analyzing its uselessness in the
New York Observer. (Although: no I have never dropped in on a game of
pickup basketball.) Look, Thomas Frank's
Wall Street Journal column on income inequality is probably a more worthwhile read, because even though Thomas Frank was
once associated with anachronistic typefaces I don't think he was ever called "twee," and neither has
Megan, who talks sturm und earthquake and minimum wage labor with me ATJ.
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