Last Stands

So I was looking through newborn baby pictures from a colleague tonight on Facebook, and was scrolling through the long list of comments. They generally fell into two categories: the awws and ahhs and oh-so-cutes about the child, or semi-cool/clever statements about the new parents with undertones of their soon-to-be lives. 

Being a friend of the couple, I decided to join in. I mean I'd already congratulated them twice verbally, but this was facebook, so it was for the record, so I sat there perplexed, wondering which camp my comment should join. 

Sarah sent me this article about hipsters the other day. It was from Adbusters, and the thing that struck me most about the article was about the hipster need to stay ambiguous. To stay undefinable and nonchalant. Hipsters don't like being called or identified as hipsters.

According to the article, the Hipster-club DJ chanted: 'If you don't care, we don't give a fuck!'

Anyway, so I'm stuck trying to think of something clever/unrevealing about how I really feel about babies and the sort. Would an 'aww so cute' cut it? even if it were sincere? and worse still - is it too passe? I worry for myself for a moment, before typing something quite unremarkable. 

My mother asked me ( in a quite unrelated conversation) the other night if I still had feelings in my broken leg. And yes, I do. But I also had to smirk to myself. Because what I was wondering that moment as she asked the question was if I really was feeling was the leg or the trauma from trying to guise those feelings. 

I don't think I'm a very savvy or accurate hipster, but I do feel a certain desertion of emotion from my life. And I'm not sure what the departure from snags and emo kids meant, but it left me feeling pretty cool and culturally relevant. 

I read this article about Nirvana and Kurt Kobain, and how he used to break down and cry during concerts, and sometimes it'd be so bad that he'd not be able to finish the set. I listened to a bright eyes song about the first day of his life. I put on my favorite Wilco album. I listened to Ben Kweller till I got bored. I starred at pictures of babies on facebook. I felt my legs, and rubbed the good one against the air-cast.

I drank whiskey by myself. 

and yawned. 

And as I started to feel worse and worse, I decided that it was better than feeling nothing, and that perhaps I'm still pretty snagy and am less and less  compelled by my own argument.