Your Feet Stink and Jesus Hates You

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There are a few things I’ve noticed over the years about people and Hollywood. And while I tend to keep company who don’t fall into this type of behavior, there are those blogs, tweets, and occasional acquaintances who become part of the psyche I describe as “Hollywood U”.

Hollywood U stands for “Hollywood University”. These are the people that act like freshmen who, after having spent four sheltered years at some Christian high school in Des Moines, suddenly arrive on campus to discover scenes, keggers, sex, pot, and all the other naughty little pleasures the rest of us knew about back when we were 15. They suddenly feel cool. They start to act cool. They start to talk cool. And they won’t shut the fuck up about it. Ever. They just go on and on, being so goddamn cool. And they’ll find any excuse to work what makes them cool into the way they act and talk and communicate, just so that the rest of the world knows that they had this thing called a “Budweiser” last night and touched a boob.

I don’t live in Hollywood. I would really like to. My wife and I have looked at our current situation and unfortunately it doesn’t make sense right now. But I don’t want to move to Hollywood the land where all my dreams will come true, I want to live in Hollywood the city that’s just more convenient. It’s kind of like wanting to move from Sherwood to Hillsborough three towns over because Sherwood is full of assholes and Hillsborough has better schools.

See, it’s like this. My wife and I were born in Los Angeles. Incidentally, when we were both babies our parents lived in houses within walking distance of each other. My family moved around the country when I was a child, and discovering that Ohio sucked balls, decided to move back here. I spent most of my high school playing gigs in Hollywood, and engaging in the kind of behavior that would cause old black baptist women to scream “have mercy” and faint. And being in Southern California, you just sort of float around to different places. Not so much live, but kind of drift. There was that summer I lived with my wife in Long Beach. I didn’t pay rent, I just sort of had all my shit there and slept there. There was that stretch of weeks and months when I crashed at a house in Pomona. Then it was Rancho Cucamonga. Then Venice. And then everybody started moving to Orange County into Ana-slime and beyond. And after we got married, moving to Irvine just seemed like the right thing to do. And then we started to know people in Hollywood. And then everyone started to move to Hollywood. We got to know MacIntosh and his girlfriend more, and meeting up with them became a drag because of distance. And then Jon the Jew moved to Hollywood and I never saw him anymore because of distance. And then my best man decided to move to Hollywood. And then my wife’s friends were living in Los Angeles. And then everyone else slowly gravitated there and suddenly we were stuck here, isolated and detached from the world.

My point is this. Many people live in and around Hollywood for various reasons. Not all of them are related to music or film. So when Mr. Fucking Cool writes a blog about how he ate at Hipster’s Deli and while he was there he saw Emma Watson and he believes that somehow makes him better than everybody because he just got off the boat and this is all so fresh and exciting chances are that while his little “living the dream” drama is playing out in his head my brother-in-law was probably across the street taking a shit or laying firewire like the million other people who live there like it’s a city and not some fucking plane of existence. Get over yourself. You ain’t shit.

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3 thoughts on “Your Feet Stink and Jesus Hates You

  1. This is incredible. I have become so conscious of the New York City version of this phenomenon ever since I moved back from college. It’s part of why I tend to respond so poorly to the Brooklyn variety of Hipster, who are the epitome of this to me.

    New York and LA have this larger-than-life mythology in the cultural imagination, but if you grow up there you’re innoculated against it from birth. And many of the transplants are so bedazzled (and I think intimidated) by the mythology that they build an entire lifestyle around proving that they do, in fact, belong there– that they are cool enough and worldly enough and “enough” in every respect. And it gets really weird and gross and kind of dispiriting.

    This is part of why I’m very, very excited to get out of New York right now. Every time I go to a bar downtown I want to take a machine gun to 95% of the patrons. I think it’s making me jaded and cynical and incapable of exploring anything, and it’ll be interesting to be on the other side of the for the first time in my life. But I promise not to start blogging about my Emma Watson sitings. Pretty much every person I know in LA grew up there, so hopefully I can count on them to smack me upside the head if I ever start to sound like an asshole.

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