Culture on the Cheap
After a rather pleasant evening outing this week I arrived home to find a disturbing missive in my inbox. The email was entitled “Kill me now” and its author was “Rebecca11222”. She wrote:
Saw this in a coffee shop in Williamsburg today. Enjoy.
Needless to say I was a trifle troubled by this— not so much by the class itself, but the dangerous precedent it sets. The women who will probably attend this class will not fill a sequined halter top as nicely as Fayzah does. They’ll either be anorexic beyond belief (and thus have no belly to ‘dance’) or they will sport an Orson Welles-eqsue paunch that is impossible to differentiate from second trimester pregnancy. Perhaps this is crass and sexist (it probably is), but all I’m saying is only in Williamsburg do I see twenty-something year old women with beer guts.
I shared the previous piquant observation with my buddy Rebecca. To wit she quipped:
The Star Wars bar scene-inspired hair is going to become the new trucker hat.
I fear she might be right. God help us all. Thankfully, we Greenpointers know better. We may not know what “Electric Tribal Fusion” means, but we don’t need to; if it isn’t European techno trash that can be cranked at ear-splitting volumes in a SUV it is not music. Period. As for the “Star Wars” hair…
it looks like someone on McGuinness Boulevard doesn’t care for it either.
Gotta run now. It’s time to get my aura adjusted.