Monday, September 1, 2008





I hope I never hear those shouts again. But I will. It'll always happen. After all, weekends are inevitable.

I live not far from some big clubs. No, they aren't bars. They are clubs. VIP line-ups. Security. Biceps. Super boobs. I'm so self-conscious about this that I don't even wanna name some of those clubs or tell you intersections. Besides, that's all beside the point because I don't wanna talk about clubs -- I wanna talk about "WHOOO-EEEE!".

Douche bags. Frosted tips. Sun-In. Bridge and Tunnel Crossers... You know who I'm sayin' and what's funny is that even if we don't live in the same city, you know who I'm sayin'. This demographic exists seemingly everywhere in Canada and America, and surely in more countries. They're an international breed, I reckon. Why do they always live on the other side of the bridge and tunnel? ...Anyways...

Every Friday and Saturday around 3AM I can expect to be disturbed by "YEEEOW!" outside my window. I've become used to it, but that doesn't make the experience any less perplexing. If I got my club on at Frolic or Menage or Filthy McDirty's like them (I made those names up but I'm sure they exist somewhere), then I'd probably be AAAAOOWWing too, but my social preferences are decidedly more subdued. When I'm not being a misanthropic hermit at home I'm usually getting my crunk on at a bar where you don't VIP line up and people are discussing their upcoming shows or a film they saw at the Cinematheque or how cheap they got their new cardigan from Sally Ann or which Velvet Underground album rules the hardest. Occasionally an American Apparel lamé outfit will appear, but that's cool. Generally. The sometimes-bearded, sometimes-laméd people at these bars don't yell no matter how many Labatt 50s they've downed. ( I am typing two club women outside my window just shrieked something at each other that sounded like two raccoons fighting over a hot dog. My argument is proving itself...) ...Anyways...

I'm not saying the company I feel most comfortable around is free from criticism -- actually, the people at "my bars" are subjected to the fiercest denigration for being snobby, pretentious, ironic, superficial, self-servingly wacky... But I'm not trying to deconstruct the Pitchfork/Williamsburg/Ossington/Main Street/party photo blog identity. I'm trying to figure out why some people go "WHOOO-EEEE!".


I had to consult Kathy M.. She replied with impressive speed. Instantaneously. Let it be known that she is incredibly intelligent and educated and proudly shows me her latest sweet finds from Value Village; I sense her explanation comes less from presumption and more from experience. She said that Pitchfork/Williamsburg/Ossington/Main Street/party photo blog people are nerds. They listen to weird music and enjoy libraries and wear used clothes. They often got shunned in high school 'cause they were odd. What kid listens to Pavement in Grade Nine? On vinyl? They also enjoy being called nerds, which is ironic, which is the whole point.

BUT THE REAL POINT IS that nerds keep to themselves in their maligned cliques, finding strength in their exclusive belonging, clandestinely obsessing over who produced which album. If you don't get it, then you don't belong (hence, the snobbery). Nerds are happy in their own fashionable little worlds being ignored by the mainstream, 'cause if you get accepted by the mainstream then you might no longer belong and you'd be fucked. Nerds are quiet. Nerds don't want to be noticed unless you're [name of influential music blog or label or Bowie]. Nerds just wanna slip on home after the bar so they can decide if they wanna get their Masters.

On the other hand, if you're gonna cross that bridge, if you're gonna bleach those tips, if you're gonna wear those little conch shells 'pon your neck, then you'd better be fucking loud. You'd better own that goddamn "WHOOO-EEEE!" and frighten those oddball nerds now, just like you did in Grade Nine. You'd better show us all that you're The Man and I'll believe you 'cause lord knows I'm not gonna fight you. You eat Creatine. I also sense that "YEEEOW!" is akin to a mating call, and when you're getting mad crunk on Smirnoff Ice while raising Libido Lounge's roof, of course your unbusted nut's gotta get busted somehow. I understand. I'd yelp too after a full night of grinding butt cheeks.

...Kathy M. didn't say all that. I kinda digressed. But she did make a sensible argument about nerds preferring to be quiet. I guess that makes me a nerd then, 'cause although I really have nothing against douche bags, I just wanna ask them all to please stop shouting. They're interrupting my Nietzsche.


Zain said...

I am a fan of your blog.

And now that I live in the approximate neighbourhood too, I wholly understand this type.

But I fear that I, myself, cross the line, sharing characteristics of both groups, of "nerd" and of he who may frequent these types of clubs.

For I have, at one point, both consumed Creatine AND slipped away to contemplate getting my masters.

Granted, not at the same time, and granted, I currently do not indulge of either of those aforementioned acts.

Anonymous said...

Tell us more about Kathy!