Literature

I'm really good at literary BS. I took a literature test a few weeks ago, I had read maybe half of the short stories, and I got a hundred. I should probably get a phD in Literature Analysis.

I'd write my dissertation on 'How to BS Literary Knowledge'.

It would say:

"Like this."

And then spend the other four minutes drawing the cover art.

Why yes, I do have a zillion assignments due tomorrow and finals this week, thank you for asking. Does this procrastination make me look hipster?

Edit:: I forgot his mane a little. Also he's a pygmy unicorn.

Edit:: My friend B.O. (Haha, his initials) said he was lacking sparkles. I told him not to make fun of my unicorn, he's disabled, and he should be jealous because my sparkle-deficient pygmy unicorn gets better parking spaces than he does.

WonderTwin Bloggers, Activate! Form of: Part One of a Story Arc!

Warning: This post is going to be a little different. Erica and I are combining our powers to form a super-post. Erica's pictures. My writing. These are the ingredients chosen to create the perfect little girl an awesome blog post! Let us know what you think about this method. Also, this post is enormous and will be two different posts, spread out over a day or two.

BEGIN PART ONE: THE SETUP

Sunday night, I slept for maybe three hours. I couldn't sleep, tried for a very long time, then got on the computer and did nothing until 3:00, at which point I laid back down and couldn't sleep for at least another half hour before I woke up, angrily, at 6:30. I dragged myself out of the shower and got ready for school, quietly promising myself that as soon as I got home I would take a nap. My parents had designated me to babysit that night, which pretty much meant I could sleep. They're self-sufficient, and only play with knives like once every three hours, when they get really bored with the power tools I give them to entertain themselves with.

Unfortunately, the world had other plans. During fourth block I got a text message from my father, explaining that I may, in fact, not be babysitting, but would instead be accompanying him to an Interpol concert, because my stepmother was terribly sick and therefore could not enjoy herself on such a long outing to Atlanta, that could possibly last until the wee hours of the morning. I'm like 95% sure she had typhoid, which totally sucked because Interpol is apparently one of her favorite bands.

"We have two hundred couches where you can--hackcoughwheezeneighcough!."

I knew we wouldn't be leaving until my father got home, so I rushed to my bed and began napping. Unfortunately, he got home maybe ten minutes later, telling me that I would most definitely would be going to the concert, and that I also needed to take out the trash and clean the kitchen.

Totally unfair.

When that was done, I laid back down, but the minute my head hit the pillow he yelled that we were leaving in five minutes, and I wasn't even dressed yet. I stumbled around until I had clothes on and then stumbled into the car. My Jason recognized that I was ridiculously tired, and decided to remedy the situation by taking me to a QuikTrip and getting me a giant PIBB XTRA: THE ARTIFICIALLY FLAVORED CHERRY SODA!

Or else.

This was a great idea, except for the fact that anyone who knows me know that being tired already makes me loopy, and throwing caffeine on top of that sort of makes me ridiculous. Luckily, it took a while to sink in and I wasn't too obnoxious on the car ride, but we got to the concert and I really needed to use the restroom. The concert was at a gutted out old church called the Tabernacle, which I'm pretty sure is sacrilegious or something but Jesus would totally have loved Rock n' Roll. 

"Stairway to Heaven! Freebird!"

Anyway, we got settled in to our seats, but when we walked in and tried to sit down the first time, this really chill usher was like "Hey, guys, the first five rows on this side are taken, and the first three are taken on that side." We nodded, and sat in our places. As my Jason went to get me another soda, though, I slowly watched him become less chill as people tried to sit in those seats, over and over. It was like the newcomers thought we were all, of course, way too stupid to sit directly in front because we were imbeciles compared to them. 

Usher: "Guys, first five rows on this side and first three on that side are taken."

Everyone, the first time he says this: "Huh? What'd you say?"

Usher: "You can't sit there."

Everyone: "Can't sit where?"

Usher: "First three rows on this side, first five on that side."

Everyone: "Oh, okay."

After this cycle repeated about twelve times, though, he became very terse.

A group of three guys sat next to my Jason and me, and I was on their side. There was a tall and skinny dude with his hat on backwards who didn't dance, but just kind of pelvic thrusted vigorously to the beat the whole time: 

...According to Erica he was Caramelldansen.

Then a larger guy who basically just texted and sat in his chair and didn't really look like he was enjoying himself:

A portrait of the modern age.

And then a bald guy in his twenties, who sat next to me and who was pretty cool and kind of muscular, and though he claimed to be the most awkward, he was actually pretty cool even if he did like to randomly climb things in order to not have to walk through the crowds of people:

Or at least the most normal.

I never learned any of their names, so lets call them Cory, Rod, and Jimmy.

Jimmy saw my Dragon*con watch, which is basically intense, and was like "Whoa, what a classy watch you have there!" and I was like "Yeah, I got it at Dragon*con!" And he was like "Bahahaha. Wow. You're totally a loser. You don't play dungeons and dragons, do you?"

"I used to."

"What about World of Warcraft?"

"God no. It feels like work."

And thus, we began talking throughout the whole concert. 

It started on a little bit of an awkward note, because the guy asked if I was here with my dad. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, except my Jason thinks it's hilarious if he points out that he is, in fact, the one into good music, and he dragged me here because he is way more awesome than I am and isn't it weird that he has a son who isn't into rock concerts because he totally is and you're jealous you don't have a dad just like him.

...Maybe my Real Dad was Pibb Xtra.

Afterwards, Jimmy asked me how old I was. I said 17, and there was a brief awkward pause. And then he said "You aren't turning 18 tomorrow or anything, are you?"

Which I immediately interpreted as:

You wanna go out sometime?

But what of course really meant:

Go Vote!

There was an inevitable awkward silence after that, as well, as I tried to figure out how to respond, but then he clarified by saying something about voting and I breathed a sigh of relief. I mean, we had just established that I was here with my dad. He was drinking, but not that much.

I'm basically just a failure at communicating with real people and understanding delicate things like social cues.

Luckily the opening band, The White Rabbits, came on about then.

But you don't get to hear about it yet! Ha-ha.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Next time, on Does This Make Me Look Hipster, there will be mystery! Intrigue! Primates! And a little bit of Interpol.

Oh God, Clay Aiken is My Real Dad

So I saw an Interpol concert last night, and I'll have a big long post about that later, but I think it requires Erica's drawings to do it justice, so it's being postponed as awesomeness takes some time to create. So, I'll move on to other news.

My mouth, which was previously approximately 25% foreign material, is now probably more like 50% foreign material, which I think probably qualifies it for healthcare benefits and a scholarship, because it's legally a cyborg.

Can I get racial scholarships, too?

So, I spent today briefly having a panic attack/meltdown because I had a mild lisp and then I got angry about it and it became more than mild because of my panic and eventually I was a quivering mass of tearth.

My tearth are a thad thubthitute for the mithery in my thoul.

I have a show tomorrow and a competition in three days, so I was freaking out about my inability to talk when it was my job to talk. I didn't want to be another excuse for the show to stink. I immediately called my Dad and demanded the intruder be kicked out of my oral castle immediately, but he called the dentist's receptionist and she said they would charge me like $300, and since I just got it in today, that wasn't going to happen. Enter Aliza:

The 'A' is for 'Advice'.

I texted Aliza complaining about it, and she told me to man up and work on making the lisp disappear, so I'd stop sounding like Clay Aiken. But I was having no luck! I couldn't make it go away. Thankfully, a Publix lady saw me crying and handed me a free cookie. I'm pretty sure she was fate in disguise, because she gave me one with sprinkles and it concealed the solution to my problem.

I bit into the cookie and said something to my father. And while all the words were garbled messes of cookie, the "S" sounds came out clearly. I tried a couple times, and discovered that if I kept my teeth separated just the right amount (about enough for a bite of cookie) I could say words without slurring them.

Made of Sprinkles and Magic

Somewhere in this, K.M. posted on my Facebook status about it that I looked kind of like Clay Aiken. He was joking (I hope) but I searched Clay Aiken's pictures and I found this picture of me from ninth grade celebrity day (I was the Flying Spaghetti Monster) and one of Clay Aiken's pictures.

The resemblance is (unfortunately) uncanny.

Aliza came to the only logical conclusion: Clay Aiken is my Real Dad. No, that's not the name of a terrible reality T.V. show, (though that gives me some ideas) it's a serious problem, with some serious genetic implications. Guys, this means you do pass the gay.

The more you know.  Oh well, maybe I can collect some serious child support, though me and my mother are going to have to have a talk about her Gaydar. As Aliza and I said when he came out, "I thought he already was? What is this madness." I have to go practice tongue twisters.

She sells sea shells by the sea shore. She sells thea shells-- NO!


Does this speech impediment make me look hipster?

Who Are You And What Are You Doing To My Holidays?

So, someone decided Halloween was Saturday, in the south.

I'm serious. Apparently Jesus is too good for Halloween.

Well, I have news for you, The South:

His insides were pie'd for your sins.

Jesus loves Halloween.

 It's religious, anyway! You dressed in costumes to scare away the devils, demons, goblins and ghouls. What could be more holy than scaring away everything that is, by definition, unholy? Is it okay to scare away those you see as evil with your shotguns and your vicious treatment, but not with costumes?

My Jason mentioned something about a parish nearby that made it illegal for people to trick-or-treat on Sunday. That you could be fined, or thrown in jail. What makes that okay?

Holidays have dates! We've celebrated them on those dates for years! It's ridiculous to just randomly decide to change it for reasons you don't really understand. I guess I kind of want to hear comments on this one, you guys. What makes Halloween unholy? It's original meaning has been so butchered anyway it's not like it means anything but 'give us candy, we're wearing costumes'. It shouldn't be a problem, unless God hates costumes and candy, in which case I'm doomed, being an actor with a sweet tooth.

My Cellphone Likes to Tease Me

When my cell phone is by my computer, which is pretty much all the time when I'm at home, my speakers make a buzzing noise like they a really consistent cough, or like they're hacking up a hairball. Usually, this is a reliable way to know whether or not I'm going to get a text message.

Unfortunately, sometimes it causes this cough-ball for a few seconds, but doesn't get any text messages. I, being who I am and desperately wanting attention from anyone who could possibly get it at any time, get excited at the buzz because it means someone wants to talk to me.

And then I don't get a message.

It's hard to describe the feeling I get at being let down like this. On a scale of one to devastated, it's somewhere around parents-forgot-to-pick-me-up-from-elementary-school.

"Well, sorry kid. I'm going home. Hope they show up!"

Oh well.

Does this personification of inanimate objects make me look hipster?

Vacuums: Creations of the Devil

I have an unreasonable fear that every vacuum I have ever used doesn't really work.

I have always kind of imagined that after sucking up the debris and garbage, the evil vacuum cackles maniacally to itself and spews the garbage back out when I'm not looking, but in a more spread-out way so that I don't notice until I think I've finished vacuuming and then I have to go back and do it again. And if I don't go back and re-vacuum it, I'm afraid that it will accumulate quickly and I will have to vacuum all over again in a very short amount of time.

Basically, vacuums are evil.

We have a little vacuum with a supersuction arm that is more handheld, which we use for our stairs. I've named him Satan. Here, I'll draw you a picture of it and how I'm pretty sure it works:

Or maybe that's not how vacuums work at all. I don't know.

The problem is that I imagine everything I suck up goes flying out the butt immediately after I suck it up.

Fetii?

So, every time I vacuum I'm constantly staring at Satan's butt hoping that he doesn't poop out the flies that I'm currently trying to clean off of the stairs. When I approached my Kim about it, she confessed similar fears but they weren't quite as drastic as mine. She assured me there was a filter, but I still had to stare at the butt just in case.

So, that's why I spent my morning staring at Satan's Butt.


Does my lack of artistic ability make me look hipster?

The Weekend That Should Have Been Real

How My Weekend Should Have Been

Friday

• 100,000 sq. ft. total-immersion experience of the zombie apocalypse in Atlanta with friends, in which I would have squealed with terror, but in a gleeful way, like a seven year old being scared by her dad. Her zombie dad.
• Rocky Horror Picture Show at midnight with a bunch of crazy people throwing things at each other and yelling things at the screen, which is pretty much my idea of what Heaven is like. Minus the stains on the carpet, and the B.O.

Saturday

• Movies with, and numerous opportunities to make fun of, A.G.

Sunday

• Halloween, and whatever that entails.

How My Weekend Is Going

Friday

• Ride to Atlanta canceled.
• Sat in front of the computer. Played around with a blog.
• Made a twitter.
• Sat in front of the computer some more.
• Played way too much Project Legacy.

Saturday

• A.G. canceled. 
• Went to Not So Scary, so that was pretty good.
• Sat around on the computer.
• Played way too much Project Legacy.
• Whined.

Maybe Sunday will be better, and I mean, having a blog is pretty cool. Especially with Erica helping out.

Whiiiiiiiiiine.

Does this pathetic self-pity make me look hipster?

Peer Pressure

So once upon a time, I had a friend who had this great idea to start his own blog about being such a hip guy or something.
(I'm pretty sure he just wanted attention.)
Shortly after, he started joking about me posting with him.

Oh, ha ha ha! Such a funny friend he was.


And then I realized he was serious.


Does my lack of enthusiasm make me look hipster, Caleb?

Furiijio Likes to Run

At least he's hardy.

Also long walks on the beach, and pretty flowers.

Guys, it has no legs.

If ever there was a randomized personality, it was this Pokemon's. Seriously though, there is a bigger problem here:

Pokemon have one-sentence personalities.

Your beloved creatures are simplified to "Eats pastries on Sundays", or "Slaughtered its entire family". This game obviously doesn't understand the emotional depth of your Pokemon. They don't get that your Pokemon get sad if they sit in your box for forever, or get jealous if they're never given a chance to fight. They just "Like to run", without legs.

In Furiijio's case, his personality is a cruel joke on his life. He likes to run, but will never have the opportunity-- he simply hovers. His only defining characteristic is his wish to gallop, to saunter, but he has to go through life floating. The only way it could be worse would be if his personality sentence was "likes to play in volcanoes", or something, but this is pretty horrible.

It's like they're making fun of the disabled.

I would like a moment of silence for Furiijio.

Not everybody has legs.

Does this attachment to fictional characters make me look hipster?

This is Totally How I Remember my Childhood

So, I was super pretentious and full of myself as a kid. The vast majority of grades K-7 can be summed up like this, by my recollection:

TEACHERS

Wow! Check this kid out! He's a genius!

ME

Chill out, Guys. Just because I have a college-age reading level in kindergarten--

TEACHERS

GEEEENIUUUUUUS. You should totally skip a grade!

RANDOM TEACHER

Skipping a grade is scary. Not very many people pass the test, and then they cry.

ME

Crying is terrible! I don't want to take the test!

PARENTS

It's your choice, our little genius sweetheart.

TEACHERS

Well, then, no skipped grade for you.

FUTURE ME

Why didn't I-- but I could have-- damn it.

THIRD GRADE TEACHER

We're going to do Charlotte's Web for our play. Now, either Joseph or Caleb is going to be Wilbur. You guys choose.

JOSEPH

Well, I mean-- I guess I could-- If given the opportunity--

ME

I'LL DO IT!

THIRD GRADE TEACHER

Sweet. Caleb gets the lead, Joseph is a rat.

JOSEPH

That's cool, I guess.

DRAMA TEACHERS FROM THEN ON

Whoa, you can understand subtexts, connotations, and inflection?! GENIUS!

ME

Another lead role? Wow, I would say that was unexpected except it totally wasn't.

EVERYONE

Stop being so full of yourself!

ME

If I was anything but modest, I would think everyone thought I was cocky.

EVERYONE

We do!

ME

Well, I'm gonna have long hair.

EVERYONE

YOU LOOK LIKE A GIRL!

ME

No, I totally don't!

EVERYONE

YES YOU DO!

ME

Okay, fine, I do. I'll cut it.

EVERYONE (ESPECIALLY MY DAD)

Thank God!

And those are pretty much all the events I remember from my childhood. Great, huh?

Do these memories make me look hipster?

A Real Place that is Totally Unreal

Over the summer, I stayed in Costa Rica with my Aunt, Uncle, and two cousins. My aunt updates a blog periodically with Costa Rican recipes and pictures of their beautiful houses that you guys should totally check out. They have a cabin and what amounts to a castle that they built from the ground up. It's beautiful.

Learning Life Through Trial and Error

Staying in Costa Rica was an amazing experience, but make sure you have someone who speaks fluent Spanish with you at all times-- I speak a little French, but my Spanish is super lacking. Thankfully, we had my uncle around, and my stepmom used to teach Spanish!

Does all this foreign traveling make me look hipster?

I Have a Twitter. No, for Real!

I have a Twitter. I don't know why. Check it out!

@totallyhipster

It will probably be just as uninteresting as this blog is right now.


Does this trendy website make me look hipster?

Issues that I Have that are Real

Youtube Celebrities

Maybe it's just deeply-rooted jealousy on my part, but I have serious problems taking anyone who becomes famous on Youtube seriously. The type of humor that will immediately garner you national attention is usually something that doesn't require a lot of intelligence to make.

...No, it's definitely deeply-rooted jealousy. They're obviously doing something right, and I just wish I could be as famous as they are. It's basically luck, and people like this Fred kid were definitely lucky.

People that are Funnier than Me

I like being the life of the party, and if someone else steals that spotlight, I'm immediately upset. So, in worlds like the blog world where I haven't yet found my niche and I'm not particularly hilarious yet, people like The Bloggess and Allie make me want to punch them in the too-funny face.

This is, once again, just jealousy, but it's true. /I/ want to be popular and hilarious. How come /they/ get to?

Does this dislike of what's popular make me look hipster?

People that I'm Glad are Real

Erica Neville

Aliza Goldstein

Austin Garner

Katie Dugan-Barrett

Caroline Cooper

Austin Laufersweiler

Andrew Bergquist

Nick Silvestri

Lindsey Grace Mccord

Matthew Hendren

Eric Snell

Sigrid Wilson

Caroline Batch

And everyone else who helps me deal with my crazy problems. I love you all!

Do these cheesy statements of love make me look hipster?

Curse Words that Will Probably Be Real

Dear Family Members Who Read My Blog,

I appreciate your support, and am glad that you read my blog. But please do not expect there to be too much censorship because of your visitation. I am a teenager. There will probably be the occasional curse word.

Love,

Caleb

Does this disclaimer make me look hipster?

Popularity that Needs to be Real

So, a friend of mine, KTDB, already gave me a blog-with-substance award. Check this out. She's basically super awesome, check her out at Free to Dance.

1. Thank the blogger who gave me the award.

You rock, KTDB! Maybe I'll get a couple of readers this way. I should also probably start tagging my posts. I'll try that out this time.

2. Sum up your blogging philosophy, motivation, and experience using five words

My way, or the highway.

3. Pass this on to 10 other bloggers that you feel have a substance in their blogs.

I don't...I don't know who to give this to. Except for Gnome Season.

Also, This blog doesn't have anything interesting in it, yet. I promise I'll work on that, but my goal is to have one short post a day about whatever it is is on my mind that day. I should be popular, guys. It needs to be real.

Does this ego make me look hipster?

People that Don't Need to be Real

Katy Perry

We already have Zooey Deschanel; we don't need the way you look. We already have Paris Hilton; we don't need the way you talk. We already have Christina Aguilera; we don't need uplifting songs that feature gay kissing like it's new, especially when your song requires us to use the weird singular version of a word we always hear plural. You are not a teenager, lots of people kiss girls, and we don't need to see your peacock.

Lindsay Lohan

I really don't think I even need to say anything.

Do these popular targets of bashing make me look hipster?

People that Need to be Real: G Edition

Gary

Let's face it. Gary's a BAMF. He's basically better than you at everything, and he gets women while he does it, too. He's apparently the same age as Ash (Like, ten) but he gets action anyway, because he's the hottest ten-year-old you've ever met. You're jealous of him.

GLaDOS

She basically controls your world. She only puts you down when it's appropriate for the test. She would never, ever try to murder you. You remember that one time you thought she was going to murder you? She was all "I'm going to kill you now!" And you were all "..." and she was all "Just kidding!"

Those were great times.

Do those video game references make me look hipster?

Words That Need to Be Real

Intendre. Noun. A phrase that implies a second meaning that the speaker purposefully left ambiguous; Intended double entendre. "That's what she said! Wow, you look stupid! That joke was totally at your expense!" "No, guys, it was an intendre." "Ohhh. Good one, dude!"

Hummersexual. Noun. A person who is obsessed with large automobiles to an almost relationship-worthy extent. "I tried to get a date with Steven, but he spent the whole night working on his car; He must be a hummersexual!"

Rasystem (Prounced Ray-sis-tehm). Noun. A governing body that discriminates against a minority. "I've been brought down by the rasystem ever since I was born!"

I've been accused of being a hipster by many, many people. I've also been accused of being a ginger, but that's definitely not true. I don't really think I'm a hipster, but I suppose I can see where people got this idea. I do like bright colors and the occasional Native American motif. I also like skinny jeans, but I don't think that means hipster-- skinny jeans apply to many, many social groups. I suppose I'm putting the nail in the coffin by having a blog, though.

Does this blog make me look hipster?