A few days ago I took a limo to IKEA and I'm not going to explain why. ANYWAY, LETS TALK ABOUT WHY THE DECEMBERISTS ARE QUINOA'S ANSWER TO KALE.
No, I'll explain. Early in the evening, me and about eight other fun, young, good-looking types loped out of Gold Dust Meridian and piled into the back of an idling limousine. I didn't know where the limousine was headed; I was only dimly aware there would even be a limousine. I was in Portland for a baker's hella of reasons, one of which was to enjoy the company of a fly young lady of BEAUTY AND WIT UNMATCHED. Her friend was having a birthday. I was graciously invited to this birthday. The action of this birthday, it turns out, was that we'd be taking a limo to various Portland locales, the specifics of which were kept secret from the guests.
Now, if you're anything like me, you're basically a Jewish Denzel Washington. But even more germane to the topic at hand, if you're anything like me, getting into the back of a limo with a bunch of people who you JUST met and going on some mysterious adventure where there might not be booze OR pizza sounds like pure, unfiltered mountain-spring wackness.
As the conversation flowed, though, that particular fear was blasted to shreds and made to look ridiculous, like how people used to think tomatoes were poisonous, rather than simply being totally fucking gross. These people were fantastic and very welcoming. Shout outs. Shout outs.
Then, dear reader, the limo stopped at the Grotto, where the birthday girl's parents delivered a speech, and parlor game-esque responsibilities were doled out. My skepticism was reignited. What if tomatoes are poisonous, though? WHAT IF WE'VE BEEN LIED TO? WHAT IF BOHEMIAN GROVE IS WHERE THEY GROW TOMATOES?
Our second destination was IKEA. We pulled up to IKEA in a limo. Had I been a spectator, I would have had one of two thoughts upon seeing bunch of adults climb out of a limo at IKEA: (A) These people are buying something large from IKEA and don't know what a truck is, or (B) FUCK THESE NERDS.
Why, though? What the fuck is wrong with people enjoying themselves? My knee-jerk reaction to their earnest attempt to create a moment was skepticism. It's been skepticism for a decade. Why? To preserve some misguided notion of cool? Because a public effort to do anything is also a vulnerability? Fuck that. When's the last time you reminisced about that time you clowned on someone for having a good time? How many treasured Polaroids do you have of you and your babycakes sneering at someone?
I had a come-to-Jesus in that IKEA parking lot (odd that it wasn't at the Grotto). Once I got out of my own way, I realized I was having a good time. Being cynical doesn't make you cool, being cynical just makes you the person at the party with the lamest stories.