Letters to the Editor
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What's the point here?
Is it me or is this the kind of thing that even shallow, emotionally-challeneged dullards figure out for themselves sometime before their 25th birthday? And something most well adusted folks figure out sometime before the end of their freshman year? Jesus Christ, Megan. Some people have real problems in this world - have you missed the food riots and failed states and human trafficking and dismantling of our Constitution that adults worry about? And you're just realizing that people have more to offer than their fucking playlists? When did Salon become the province of overpriveleged, cossetted, navel-gazing children who think their every obvious utterance and banal observation is a miraculous and praiseworthy milestone in human history? I have to remember not to anything here except "How The World Works" and the Cartoons... These features make Julia Alison look like David Halberstam...
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you looking at me?
So the "Me" Generation has spawned the "What do you think about me?" Generation. But the thing is, no one else really cares what everyone else is doing/reading/watching/eating/wearing. They never have. As my mother used to tell me (and I now tell my kids), you shouldn't obsess about whether your hair or shoes look stupid because NO ONE ELSE IS LOOKING AT YOU. It's true. No one is looking at you because they are too busy looking at themselves.
Thus, Megan Hustad doesn't need to hide her self-help books--or offer advice on how to peruse them secretly in a bookstore--because who cares? It is the height of self-absorption to operate this way, as if the whole world is watching (and judging) your choices. The only thing you should care about is if you are being rude or unkind--or judgmental. Just enjoy reading books that interest you, listening to the music you like, and eating the muffin of your choice. And be grateful you have the time and means to do so.
(thanks, mom. I listened)
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Genre plug
It's interesting that the author of an article suggesting people not automatically dismiss self-help books is the author of a self-help book herself.
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I quite like what JaneyC wrote.
All hail her mama!
MamaC is right. We're invisible to others with this caveat: unless they want something us.
For those who assert that shiny lists are a function of youth, you should read my alum magazine, where 60somethings assert that they look like Audrey Hepburn and are equally comfy in sturdy boots and in Prague.
@ Jason G, who wrote:
"Inane and incoherent
I haven't read anything else by Ms. Hustad, so maybe this column is an aberration. I certainly hope so.
A collection of inarticulate, tangentially-related spoutings-off is not an essay."
Why not insufferable? Ingratiating? Insidious?
If you're going to have your in-party, invite all the in-words!
Ms. Hustad, I like your meandering. I read the entire essay, which is what I generally don't do, for I can often extrapolate from a writer's first paragraph what will follow. Yours tendered surprises. Although it seems inedible to Jason C.'s tender tongue, it was an innocuous morsel for me.
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Just ignore it
When I was younger, it used to bug me immensely when people sneered at the books, movies and music I liked.
Now, though, I just tune them out and read, watch, and listen to whatever the hell I please.
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wow. really?
Is the article describing a 20-something thing? And if so, is that generation really so shallow? A sad bunch of tools they are then.
What happened to pseudo-ironic slumming? I remember going out of my way to drink the service-station coffee, have crappy breakfasts at midnight at a decrepit Denny's, wear thrift-store clothes.
And yes, all these gestures just made my and my friends' actual privileged status just reek all the more. But at least we didn't go into debt consuming-to-impress. We weren't total tools.
And you could actually have your guilty bad-taste pleasures as long as you pretended to enjoy them ironically. Now, apparently, you have to go out of your way to condemn in the harshest terms that which is deemed uncool (Exhibit A: any and all anti-furry web activity, which tends to be ridiculous in its ferocity; so much anger and bile towards harmless, silly fun).
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I like tomatoes and black-capped chickadees
I'm not sure that there's anything new about the snobbery of attempting to define yourself by associating yourself with accomplishments not your own.
Maybe you'll never write a book like "Infinite Jest," but you're sure smart enough to appreciate it, and somehow that makes you just a little better than those who never read the book or set it aside out of frustration. So you carry around the tattered gospel according to Wallace and thumb through it absentmindedly while stirring your chai.
Concert t-shirts are all about proclaiming your hipness to the world without having to say a single word, and they've been around for only shortly less time than actual rock concerts.
The listing that goes on MySpace, Facebook, internet dating websites, etc., seems to be less about snobbishness, but rather says more about how we meet people in the internet age. I can't just walk into a person's home and see there bookshelves or record collection. I don't get to know my neighbors at social functions where their personalities are demonstrated by what they choose to contribute to the pot luck (oh look, Edith brought that awful tater tot casserole again!).
I could say "I'm thoughtful, introspective, and witty," but I could also just say I dig the Shins. Same meaning, fewer words. I could say "I've spent alot of time alone lately, but I've saved money by not dating so I bought this great plasma TV, blu-ray player, and unlimited Netflix membership." Or I could just type "favorite movies: the "Bicycle Thief" and "Alphaville"."
Sure there's snobbery, which is nothing new. And the need to connect is certainly universal. But this recent phenomena seems more a shorthand meant to cut through impersonal cyberspace so that we feel we have a common community even if we're separated by thousands of miles and even if we can't seem to bear the prospect of actual, live interpersonal communication.
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Dead Souls!!
Just read that. I'm no literary snob though. I'm more likely to be found, in my cups, overturning the carriage.