Vowels are the height of bourgeoisie fecklessness


Since i’m so interested lately in jobs i of course stumbled across this handy guide to never having to work again. (Not that I’m actually looking for a job because, I might actually find one) It all makes so much sense. If you have a job all your income comes from one place – if you lose that, you’re screwed! You can live anywhere! You should have less than 100 things! 

Wait, what? 

Oh it’s that. Minimalism, or as they like to call it when they’re being haughty, voluntary simplicity. The bastard offspring of green living and white privilege, the Minimalism trend is a perfect New Thing for our Eat, Pray, Love era. On websites with plenty of black text on clean white backgrounds with disemvoweled all lowercase names like mnmlist, they insist that this movement isn’t just for wealthy people with a surfeit of Apple products no matter what a Google image search says

One practitioner even goes so far as to include the total list of his possessions, leaving out of course a lot of his possessions because then he couldn’t claim to own 57 things. 


Not listed: College Degree, Comfortable Suburban Childhood

The MacBook Pro Cleaning Cloth (TM)? Ten years ago this guy used to wear those blue collar work shirts embroidered with the name of someone who actually worked for a living. Forgetting the obvious criticism that billions (literally) of people around the world don’t even have 57 things, this whole endeavor is somehow perfect for 21st century America. It feigns a self-reflection that is actually not there.  The haves-who-pretend-to-have-not are like the Vegans of Consumption, making everyone around them want to go to Target and fill up two shopping carts.  Only middle minded NY Times columnists try to equate a philosophical position from purchases and/or possessions. 

Fine. I won’t buy anything. Just your books.

A Wine and Weed based economy


There’s weed every where you turn out here. Between the dispensaries, friends who sell, and gutter punks pushing it on you in the Haight, it is a saturated market. It makes no sense that he makes hundreds of dollars a day selling pot truffles. They are pretty good though, and I really like the presentation. And thusly I while away another indian summer day in San Francisco.

One word: Plastics


Getting laid off has meant having the same conversation a lot, whether with parents or with friends, all centered around the question of ‘what next?’ And each case I’m like a green screen. It’s always the same, people urge me not to rush into something and take a job where I’ll end up miserable- presumably like they are. Or they ask if maybe i’ll move back east- this one an especially popular subthread of conversations with dear moms. Or they smile and are ‘happy’ for me, but are really a roiling pit of jealousy that I’m now ‘funemployed’.

I smile and nod and tell the same joke about living for free wifi in a cafe full of identical MacBook Pros, but seriously, I don’t actually know what I’m going to do. I have time in a way that I haven’t had since I was a teenager on the last day of school. Let’s all hope I don’t blow it sucking on an Orange Julius while dumping quarter after quarter into Street Fighter II again.