Free Stuff Hipsters Hate by Brenna Ehrlich, Andrea Bartz Page B

day was over . Why the fuck can’t we do that?
     
    KASEY: Wait, you want to be a farmer?
     
    MARJORIE: It was a metaphor, Kasey. Whatever. I mean if I had my way, life would totally be Barry Lyndon , 24/7.
     
    KASEY: Barry Lyndon ? What the fuck are you talking about?
     
    MARJORIE: Kubrick. Watch a fucking movie. [The room goes dark.] Fuck! The fucking bulb burned out. Fuck this—let’s go to Sawyer’s place. He has Rock Band.
     

CLEANING THEIR APARTMENTS
     

    Let’s go for a walk through your unfriendly neighborhood hipster’s digs. You’ll notice a heap of unwashed dishes creeping about the kitchen, a bathroom coated in hair, grime and curls of soap, and, underfoot, a veritable casserole of clean clothes, dirty clothes, scraps of scrawled tablature, condom wrappers and art supplies. The hardwood floor is a minefield of empty beer bottles, the inside of the fridge hosts several undiscovered species and the only things not covered in a quarter-inch of dust are the reading chair, the stereo and the MacBook Air. Why the voluntary squalor? Simple: Hipsters hate getting artificial chemicals anywhere near their precious immune systems. (Weed, tobacco and shrooms are fine because they’re natural .) Windex, Simple Green, even that weird canned air—all laboratory made, based on difficult-to-understand voodoo hard science, and all probably responsible for the ADD, asthma and attitude problems of today’s addled youth. True, hipsters could buy the eco-conscious green stuff, but Method’s gleaming bottles flout two principles at hipsterdom’s core: 1) Never buy into whatever marketers are telling you, and 2) Don’t spend money on shit, ever. Unless it predicates the quality of an epic, epic bender.
     

HOME THEATER SYSTEMS
     

    “ ‘Duuuuude, you gotta check out my ridonkadonk living room set-up, it will fucking change your life, bro. Check it: ultra-high-resolution picture from a Sony SRX-R110 Digital Cinema Projector. Stewart 18-by-10-foot Snowmatte 1.0 Gain fuckin’ laboratory-grade screen. Audio fuckin’ perfectly balanced with solid-state and vacuum-tube amps, and yep, that there is a Sony BDP-S1 state-of-the-mother-fuckin’-ar t Blu-ray player. Notice: PlayStation 3, Toshiba HD-XA1 HD DVD player, fuckin’ Mark Levinson N° 51 DVD/CD Media Player, Pioneer HLD-X0 Hi-Vision HDTV MUSE Laserdisc Player, sick Theta Digital Generation VIII 32-bit 8x Oversampling Dual Processors and a fucking 8.8 channel audio system with fucking sixteen 18-inch subwoofers. This thing is beast . I hit play and chicks just rip off their clothes , bro.’
     
     
    Ugh, the sad reality for my broham cousin is that this stupid-ass waste of approximately a year’s public school tuition will just provide a new location for him to watch Boondock Saints with his fellow ogre friends and like, whack off to porn in high-def. Sigh. Whoa, where the fuck is my dog-eared Roads to Freedom set? Who the fuck took the Sartre off my bookshelf? Liza’s coming over later and I need my existential literature in place and highly visible if I’m gonna get laid, yo.”
     
    —Sebastian R., 28, museum docent
     

COOKING
     

    BRENDA: I am so fucking hungry. Let’s stop at the taco truck at the Woods.
     
    ANN: Didn’t you eat dinner? I made myself this kick-ass feast from the farmer’s market over in McCarren.
     
    BRENDA: Well, I tried to make dinner tonight, because, like, it felt like springtime outside and I was feeling all productive and get-back-to-nature-y and shit. At first, I totally wanted an artichoke. Like fucking craved an artichoke. So I go to five different little grocery places looking for one, but I think they’re out of season? So then I decide I totally want some Bi Bim Bop, and I’m standing in the store trying to remember what goes in it. So I just grab all these vegetables. But when I get home, I look up a recipe, right? On the Internet? And, like, I don’t have soy sauce… or eggs… or any meat… or any, like, knives