The first time I wrote about not writing about Hipsters I made the the equivalent argument of “No. You’re a Hipster, shut up.” I apologize. There is no doubt that I was missing something. Perhaps sobriety. By the time that piece was published, the term Hipster had degraded into such a dirty word that all the image conjured up was irritation. What my naive 27 year-old self should have officially declared was “The Hipsters are dead (finally).”
Be yourself. There is only one of you and you can do anything. Shoot for the moon and you’ll land among the stars. Believe it […More…]
Elation was surging through my bones. I had that thrill that always comes with the start of a new journey, a new love, a new adventure. I was leaving Toronto for my first job, teaching ESL in Jakarta. On the way, I was busing to see my cousin in Cincinatti, who was doing his M.D./Ph.D. He’s a hard partying genius who loves “discussing” great topics. This, of course, means really vicious verbal feuds, which for Iranians is totally normal with close friends. I was also feeling rather smug about the deal I got, since flying out of Toronto can be much pricier than flying out of O’Hare, the renowned global hub of air travel.
At the border, everyone got off for the routine formalities. When my turn came, they told me to sit down and wait. This was ominous. The other travelers just got back on the bus and the only other person waiting with me was an older black gentleman. This was a bad sign.
As I sat there, waiting patiently and inwardly laughing at the foolishness of bureaucracy, I casually observed others going through the motions with the US border guards. It all seemed rather banal. Then two young blonde girls came around. No passports. Coming from or going to a Football game; memory obscures which. ID? Only their college issued STUDENT CARDS!
Roughly two hours later…
“People’s conscious minds constantly let go of thoughts, memories, and reason, but the unconscious stores it all. From the miniscule to the imperative to the things you’d rather not say, what we aren’t thinking about on a regular basis is often more important than the lusty financial woes to which many give precedence while daydreaming.”
A review of Creating Memory: A Guide to Outdoor Sculpture in Toronto
To paraphrase the opening line from one of my favorite books, “To be born again, first you have to die.” In this, the inaugural issue of Provocative Penguin, we celebrate the life and death of Provocative Penguin…
Collins does the unthinkable and tries to explain why Guns N’ Roses are so goddamn terrible.