The only things I'll read are faces

Last night, my A-#1 pal, MB, sent me a story from The Age (Melbourne, Australia) regarding hipsters and the glasses which they are required to wear. In addition to being confirmation that they have newspapers down there, I suppose the more depressing development is that hipsters have invaded Australia's fair shores. I'm not sure of the solution or even if there is one since this problem is apparently so widespread. Thanks for nothing, Obama.

After North Korea starts Global Thermonuclear War for real, I suspect the only survivors will be Kafka-reading hipsters arguring whether Vivian Girls really are worthwhile. After all, what's the point in surviving if the music sucks?

I suppose now would be as good a time as any to mention that I've got some new glasses. Predictably, they are of the super-fab, uber-stylish black variety that probably give off precisely the too-cool-for-school-vibe to which the author of the above column is referring. That is, if I were living in a place where there was a reason for giving off such a vibe. Or for using such a word as hideous as "vibe".

But I'm not.

When people talk about Deerhunters around here, they're referring to the real honest-to- God Bambi killers, not the band of which only readers of Pitchfork have heard.

And that's just as well.

Though I have the glasses and have long found the underground and its myriad sub-cultures the place to be, I'd just as soon avoid most hipsters. I've never been too keen on making any scene and having such longings at the advanced age of 35 would just be embarrasing. Which is why the bulk of my wardrobe consist of t-shirts for obscure bands, record labels and record stores.

Of course, if there's one thing hipsters love more than horn-rimmed glasses, it's irony.

I guess that means I hate myself. At least I've already got all those Cure records.