[Hipster scouting: Bedford Avenue 2 am]

I’ve noticed that some readers have responded to my [Hipster scouting: Craigslist New York] post – a tale of one banker’s plea for romance and seduction from a lone hipsteress – by commenting that a similar scenario had happened on something called “Mad Men.” I wasn’t really sure what it was referring to, but I thought I remembered seeing that title to describe an AMC show in a Sunday Times article. So when the people I was conversing with at a bar off Bedford Avenue tonight (I’m not going to comment on if it was a hipster bar or not but they definitely played The Cure 95% of the time there) mentioned Mad Men, I thought I would demonstrate my knowledge of pop culture and impress them by asking if they were talking about the show about the advertising execs in the ’60s.

As soon as I said it, they exchanged a knowing glance.

“Um no… It’s a band. You know, the Mad Men?”

Speaking of bands, I went to go see my manager’s band play in the basement of a bar on Bedford Avenue where they give you free pizza with your beer. My favorite song that they played was called, “I love you, but you’re fucking worthless.” Now, I’m not quite sure if he’s a hipster or not, and in any case I don’t want to be fired in case he reads this, but I thought I would put that amazing title into Google to see if I could find the lyrics and know for sure.

What I found was a website about “vampire freaks” that I’m pretty sure injected a virus into my computer, and THE MOST AMAZING HIPSTER SHORT STORY EVER.

I’m not even kidding about the caliber of this tale. Apparently, someone was inspired to write a 2,155 word “fiction” story about a verbal altercation between he and his significant other. The tale begins with the female chastising the hipster, Arkady, for being dependent:

“You can’t even get a drink of water for yourself… You’re fucking pathetic!” said Nadia from the kitchen.

“That statement is false,” said me calmly from the couch.

“It’s not nonsense, you can’t even get your self a glass of water. I have to get it for you. You can’t do anything for yourself. Without me, you would die for sure. All you are, is a fucking brat.”

Nadia has come into the living room. She is standing in front of the couch yelling sentences at me.

After that promising start, the story evolves into a tale of Nadia’s disappointment for Arkady’s habits of doing nothing but going to strip joints and Denny’s in northeast Ohio, to which Arkady narrates a series of nonchalant responses and complains that Nadia doesn’t put out. A series of insults are exchanged, ranging from the most inventive burns I have ever heard to the weakest, and Arkady reveals he has been cheating on Nadia with a stripper named Liz.

With all of the hipster angst released in this fictional argument, one would assume that the fight would result in gruesome murder, or at least them doing it – but no. See for youself. I guarantee you, it’s even better, as those endings are so passé.

For people too lazy to click the link, I’ll paste the conclusion below the jump, because I want you to experience the hipster goodness of this story like I did. I never imagined looking up punk band lyrics could lead me to discover such awesome hipster writing outlets. (That is, of course, the inevitable result from looking up punk band lyrics.)

“Get the fuck out!”

She stood up, and jumped on me, and began punching me in the face. I threw her onto the floor, grabbed her by her the hair, dragged her crying to the door. I opened the door and threw her out. I locked the door. Nadia stood out there screaming and crying. Eventually she left.

I went back to the couch, picked up the cordless telephone and called Liz.

Afterward

Nadia got a boyfriend within ten days. His name is Trevor and he smokes a lot of weed, didn’t graduate high school and is in a really bad band. And Nadia refuses to listen to him play guitar, but she goes to the shows, but never goes near the stage. She sits at a table and tells everybody that comes near her that her boyfriend is Trevor and he’s in one of the bands.

Ruthless hipster love. Is this what it’s really like, says me?