As a general rule, I do not, under any circumstances, SLEEP on the subway. I realize that my mornings start at the ungodly hour of 5:45am, a time when no human being should be rising, and so a 40-minute nap from Finch to Queen might mean a day with less coffee and fewer needs for naps. But, just, NO. The control freak in me thinks of things like snoring and drooling and farting and all of the other glorious bodily functions that can happen while you are unconscious in public. So, no matter how tired I am, I sit with my ebook of choice (it’s still the 600+ page The Invisible Bridge) and read. Sometimes I have to pinch myself so as to not drift off into a little kittynap.
There is also the fear of this, which we will call THE INVASION OF PERSONAL SPACE.
You may not be able to see my facial expression in this shot, but my semi-permanent, thank-you-30s laugh lines can tell you full stop that I am not, in fact, laughing. What is the good of having an actual seat on the train when the dude sitting next to you has basically decided to lie down ON TOP of you and your personal space and snooze? The dude that you do not know…who could have lice or scabies or leprosy or something else he wants to share with you.
In other news, while doing what I do best once my kids are in bed and the husband is off playing and/or watching hockey, AKA DICKING AROUND ON THE INTERNET, I came across the wonderful and hilarious Hipster Ariel and laughed maniacally once again because Hipster Ariel is awesome (even though I really feel like it should have been Snow White, since, you know, she was the original Disney Princess. You know, before Disney princesses were mainstream.)
But it was this
that gave me pause. “Am *I* a hipster?” I asked myself.
It seems, after consulting my sister, that I am, indeed somewhat of a hipster. I guess I have hidden behind my vintage frames and pretended that my hipster ways are un-hipster because they are vintage and not plastic and black.
But dudes? The signs all point to YES.
I can never have too many cardigans. Check.
I like bands until they become mainstream and then I don’t like them as much as I did before. Check.
I own a pair of Chucks. Check.
I own many pairs of skinny jeans, including at least one grey pair. Check.
I work in online publishing. Check.
I love anthropologie. Check.
I can discuss typography at length and in detail. Check.
I want to own a fixed-gear bike. Check.
I like cake balls. Check.
I love Apple products. Check.
I watch documentaries. Check.
I drink coffee. Check.
I own several hoodies. Check.
I own something vintage. Check.
I like Indie movies. Check.
I like photography. Check.
I use the word snark. Often. Check.
I read Pitchfork. Check.
I use Google Chrome. Check.
I have never had a PBR in my entire life. And I live in Pleasantville, for god’s sake and I go to sleep before midnight every.single.night.
That has to count for something. Right?