So the other day I was driving somewhere--I can't remember where--listening to indy radio (103.1) and Suicidal Tendencies' "Institutionalized" came on, followed by the Buzzcocks' "Orgasm Addict." If you know me, you understand this is enough to make me believe that all of the forces of the universe are aligning just to please me. So I'm driving down the road rocking out to car karaoke and it occurs to me: "Gee, I'm a niche market."
I sort of forgot about the moment until last night when A called to give the latest report in the crisis news ticker that is her life. She explained that she's ready for anything because she went out and bought a case of Pellegrino and case of Red Bull yesterday, and that reminded me.
Here's the thing--all of my life I had obscure-ish tastes. (You know when people seriously ask you if you're undergoing cancer treatment because of your hairstyle that you have an obscure aesthetic.) I cut my own hair for a long time because only the supremely expensive salons would do anything like what I wanted--"short" in my formative years meant "like Dorothy Hamill." I had to make my own band tee-shirts (not that any self-respecting DIY-er would buy a band tee-shirt anyway). My apartment is largely furnished with 50s furniture picked up curbside and at St. Vinnies before they started calling it "mid-century modern." It's like that.
It wasn't until the other day that I realized capitalism has finally caught up with us. And the great thing about getting older is that I'm totally pleased by that now. If I have to live in the world of capitalism, I'm at least happy that it's working for me.
A has dubbed us "generation WTF," and I'm willing to go with that. Let's hear it for commodifying our desires!
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