Sundays Offering-The Horse

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. Very true, I imagine. I've never actually tried, but it's one of those sayings that's been around for so long, it becomes true.

Also, you can dress cool and go to cool places, but you cannot become cool.

Last night I went to a late-nite bowling lane in Shoreditch, East London. It's an establishment that screams "I'M COOL." The-American themed diner, the shortage of dunnies, the facial hair of every male employee. C. O. O. L.
A large proportion of those in attendance seemed to be pushing the same vibe. Our collective weight is fuck-all. We spent bloody ages getting this "I don't care what I wear" look just right. We're here. We are Hip-by-Proxy. ooh shityeah.

There is a unifying sign to the wannabe hipsters. Luckily, as I'm not in the circle of edge-cutters, I can identify this. Its cameras. Or more specifically, the giant SLR numbers "for the perfect shoot" They hang round the skinny necks of the indie tragics as they constantly scour the scene they're on for that identifying shot. Oh look! There's a can in the gutter! It looks so sad! Lets adjust the aperture to really bring the sadness out. Wow. That's inspired.

To be fair, everyone likes to take a good photo. It's just no-one likes to show they're ready to take that album cover like the malnourished wannabe trendsetters of East London.

Not that I can talk. My camera is disposable. My haircut is conservative. My attendance at the bowling lane was also an attempt at Hip. I am the gutterball of cool.

Spewing.